Very worldy me.

Yesterday I enjoyed the first no wind day on my balcony and I decided to celebrate the eminent arrival of the weekend and the Cape Town World Music Festival by having a little worldly evening myself.
So I ate Italian tomato salad and Mexican tortillas. I drank South African wine and had some German wine gums for desert. I sat outside on my balcony on my Moroccan puff while wearing my Moroccan Djellabah to read my book about an English boy who ends up in Persia. Then I watched some American series and then snuggled into my Egyptian cotton sheets (or so I was told…).

Okay, fine, I will admit that it was never a proper plan, it just worked out like this…but as it stands I’m now properly prepared and the weekend can commence. Have a happy one!

New tomato selection box from Woolies, which got me overly excited for some odd reason. Love the funny shapes and colours.

My new, well, actually vintage Moroccan puff on my finally wind still balcony. Bliss.

My new and perfect summer version of sweatpants. And if you object that it ain’t very sexy, may I add that a) sweatpants are worst and b) I have already scored once while wearing it and c) nobody saw me, but the parking guard. And no, there is no connection between b) and c).

Not funny.

So apparently I'm funny. A lot of people tell me after reading my blog. I guess I'm not as funny live. Not sure what this says about me, but I tend to be a glass is half full kinda person so I just take it as a compliment. There is also the usual amount of suspects that pretend to be amazed to find out that I am German. What? A funny German? Never heard of that! It's like an English man with good teeth. (In all fairness I personally know plenty of funny Germans and no English man with good teeth, but I would hate to feed the stereotype.)

These days I am not feeling very funny though. I don't want to constantly mope, but life is just feeling niggly at the moment. Though post-Morocco depression is slowly vanishing, it seems to just have made space for dull, everyday normality. Summer still far away, money from the travel agent of doom still not transferred, and my date request still unfulfilled, except for my aunt mentioning a nice guy Dude, who I will only be able to meet next year and whose real name she can’t remember. Hey Dude, want to go for a drink? Bleh. Can you tell I am having a hard time spicing things up? So I do what any sensible person would do, I drink more, but besides that this statement makes me sound like a true alcoholic, I feel dreadful the next morning with my bikini figure slipping further into the bottle.

The one and only thing that really helps right now is again yoga. Unfortunately not in the comforting, peaceful way, but in the let me kick your ass really hard way. Everything feels more intense than usual in my practice and I often get a simple feeling of well, if I survive this, I can survive anything. Yesterday when I had this thought I almost started to cry. Then we went into camel and it kicked my ass right out of it. Try it – next time you feel like crying for no stupid reason or other – do a camel. The crying I postponed instead for when I was in bed. No idea where it came from, but it actually wasn’t so bad. This morning when I found the tissues and remembered, I couldn’t actually remember what initiated the little outbreak. Oh, well. Sometimes you need to cry and sometimes you need to be kicked in the ass by a camel and if you really lucky the sun might just shine when you wake up.