something has been stealing all my words. my thoughts.
something like the cat in the hat.
i am still in this, well, condition. it's nothing bad or anything. quite the opposite in fact. and i'm Not Pregnant. at all. no. god forbid.
i can't seem to concentrate on anything important. like i used to. like school. like supper. like marking and lesson plans. like getting anywhere on time. like Normal Responsibilities For Any Old Human On The Planet. i find myself staring out the window. staring at blazing green wild grass; or strolling the hills when the red moon is rising and loving how they roll southwards, silver, a wrinkly blanket over the steppes. like watching the sun dapples (sun beams for christ's sake! she alarmingly pinches herself) wobbling, dancing sun dapples in my car at school, while i wrote rambly silly thoughts like these. (and snuck in a camel light) and noticed one purple petal of a common old bougainvillia lying brave and bright against the spiky gravel. look. i'm not denying that one doesn't have these odd little moments. but mine are happening All The Time.
i couldn't care less about what form a school report is in. whatever. i couldn't give two friggin' hoots. instead i doodle in green ink; intricate 3 D roman camps with stars all around them while monsieur mwaipopo, the french master who wears flambuoyant jackets and the best ties ever, arches his eye brows at my brilliant 3 D doodles, smiling bemusedly at me, and feeling ever so slightly uncomfortable about the situation. (we were in the same discussion group). he warm heartedly echoed my dreamy mutterings of " je n'ai aucune idee..." everytime he asked for a little contribution to the group talk. quelque chose les a vole, i should've added. i managed to say yes yes yes vaguely to a few pointers. and by some bizarre and completely mystical trick, some of the meeting's information actually cunningly sieved itself past this majik that has taken hold of me, and hangs doggedly onto my conscious mind. deeply relieved.
tonight i put this majik in a jar. tonight i managed to work. i have managed to write this. tonight i was back to being Minister Of Home Affairs. and The Fun Police. to a relatively bloody sterling degree, i reckon. closing down runescapes against fierce resistance. managing to access teachit.co.uk all on my own. and actually successfully navigate the site. iamnotaludditeiamnotaluddite. my ideas on report forms are going to win me world recognition for their brilliance. i could be a news reader on CNN or Sky. with dark rimmed spectacles, finger on the pulse, straight hair, and fucking smart. this is all rather relieving and balancing.
but in a minute, i shall peek through the curtains and spy the late red moon slowly float above the quiet hills, for a good while, and then the majik will pop the lid of the jar and steal all my words and thoughts again.
oh well. worse things have happened at sea.
Kitchen Board: Tuesday Night: June 2009
a tampered board...various anonymous contributors. obviously mine is the one in big pissed off letters...as a reminder to myself that i have lived in africa for, gosh, what, 4o odd years and EVERY time the electricity fails its customers (which happens a Lot), i can never:
1. find a functioning torch. to find a functioning lighter or match box to light candles
2. find candles.
3. find a functioning paraffin lamp.
4. find a bottle of paraffin to fill last remaining functional, yet empty, paraffin lamp.
and when you do find a match box, most of them are used (and have been put back in box. guilty.), some of them snap in half when you strike them, some of them have no sulphur and you'll be lucky to find the last functioning match.
consequently i have become largely adept at feeling my way to the generator house in the darkness and starting it blindly.
and re: the pot handles...oh well. forgive my slightly embarrassing loss of temper.
so toodely old toot then, You. tumbly bisous X.X.X majiked ones...j