Last year's chronicles.

I wrote a wedding guest post yesterday for Indieberries. Well, it was supposed to be a wedding post, but as it already happened once before I ended up talking about vampires. Which was probably just as well, because who are we kidding?? I know nothing about weddings. Though no expert either, vampires just seemed a safer choice of topic and I do know my Eric from my Edward (thanks, nieces!).

So either way it seemed that some people liked my story and one commentator was looking forward to reading more vampire stories. Which I hate to disappoint. Then again I think I have written all about them that I can, because – you may need to cover your eyes, eager vampire stories fan – since an overexposure to pouting Stefan, I am actually slightly over vampires. Dig here and here and here if you want to know my former insights on the eternal matter.

Today however I still have some thoughts about my birthday and my previous year to share. I guess most people start reminiscing around their birthdays in one way or another. Some before, some after – once the pressure is off you and realize it is not much different to be 28 34 than it was to be 27 33.  I was reading some old posts again and remembered that though my birthday itself was properly celebrated last year, I was not in a good space. I was in a relationship that was completely wrong and if I care to admit it made me somehow miserable. For an odd reason or another I accepted this misery as part of an adult relationship. As much as I tried to tell myself they could, but pink bubbly and filet in cappuccino truffle sauce (a phrase I never use is in order: OMG!) at the Pot Luck Club couldn't make up for the fact that we were arguing all throughout my birthday dinner.  Things ended shortly after, but I still felt off. A layer too little…out of my skin… uncomfortable in my own skin…and all of them at once.

In June I had my long booked appointment with Rod Suskin. The last time I had spent money on revealing the future and explaining the past I was in a dark square off Bourbon Street in New Orleans. Equally drunk on Bloody Marys and spooky vampire stories (see, dear vampire stories fan, I can always sneak one in for you!) it made complete sense to pay an old witch to tell me about burning towers, the sun, the moon, and the knight in shining armour following them. The next morning I washed the prophecies and the hangover down with two aspirin and forgot all about it. The only reason why I would spend money on a session with Rod as expensive as pink bubbly and filets in cappuccino truffle sauce for a party of twenty was the combined effort of my aunt and uncle. Two people who I trust completely, who cannot be more different, but who were both utterly convinced by his skills. So was I after the session. I still don’t know if I believe in astrology, but I believed him when I told me that I was okay the way I am and that my life choices are on the right track. He told me to stop worrying. He told me that everything was going to be fine. Wouldn't you rather believe someone who tells you that you can have everything you ever wanted and maybe make it a self-fulfilling prophecy than a silly, little voice that advises to be sensible and that you can’t always get what you want? Maybe I was naïve, but I thought I should at least try.

So I tried and before you hold your breath, no, my life did not just become magically better overnight. I still had a difficult year 2012, where things just felt harder all the time than I thought they should feel. The year culminated in a trip back home, which turned out less than exciting and a New Year’s party with an about to be divorced couple. When the first day of the new year dawned I was not only hangover, but had no voice to yell at them to shut up and stop arguing. I was convinced this year was going to be equally bad as the last with such a way to start it. It wasn't.

Somehow, something in me had shifted after this trip and I found a non-New Year’s New Year’s resolution when I came back to Cape Town. I think without knowing the words, I took Rumi to heart when he wrote: Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world. Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.

Mind you, most of the days I still fail miserably at changing into the person I ultimately like to be. I worry and the worry makes me bitchy and confused and indecisive. Some days however I don’t fail quite as much and just with these few days and the good intention, life has become somehow easy. Or at least a little less hard. I might not be a glass if half full kind of person yet, but at least I have learned that even half a glass of wine is better than no wine at all and that’s good enough reason to keep trying.

The teenager in me.

I was quiet last week, because work stuck me at a stand at the Marketing Indaba for two days. Oh the joy! It ended in a successful pizza evening at Col'Cacchio where I was being adventurous for a change and 10 hours of sleep followed by a full yoga class. It was in fact so full that some new girls timidly asked whether the classes were always that full or if they could still bring more people along in the future.

I will write something more coherent than a weekend recap later, but did want to share something that my yoga studio just posted quickly. In general I hate motivational quotes on blogs, facebook, etc. and don’t like posting them myself but this stuck with me and just made me very happy:

Come, come, whoever you are.
Wanderer, worshipper, lover of living, it doesn't matter
Ours is not a caravan of despair.
Come even if you have broken your vow a thousand times,
Come, yet again, come, come.

In case you wonder, it is by Rumi, who was a 13th century poet and Sufi mystic. I have decided that any quotes by Dr. Seuss and Rumi will get a carte blanche from me.

On another note – I got a lovely email from my sister this morning, praising my blog and my stories and my writing in general. Very sweet indeed. Then she suggested to put my stories in a book and name it something like “Experiences and life of a Teenie”. I’m unsure whether that was supposed to be a compliment or an insult. I am well aware of the fact that I do sometimes still behave like a teenager, but... I am actually not and quite happy about it. Do my stories make me sound like a teenager? Again, not so sure... Only few excitements actually happened when I was still living at home. I was in fact such a good teenager that my mother suggested I should ditch more classes and have more fun. Okay, she took that back quickly, but you get my idea. Either way, from now I on I shall indicate time and era of stories of my life more clearly.

P.S. The only “naughty” story I can remember, which my sister could relate to anyhow was the time I bought my 1001. Barbie. I was 11 or so and still needed an adult with me to go draw money from the bank with me. Since my mother said I had enough Barbies already (can one ever really have enough Barbies??) and wouldn’t allow it, I convinced my sister to go with. She took me to the bank and then to the store. I’m sure it was worth all the trouble she got in once we went into our sauna in the basement to see the glow-in-the-dark Barbie glow and my little face glowing as well.