The Aftermath

The dust settles at some point… all that’s left is rubble and…. mess – in her heart anyway. So now it’s about remembering. remembering how she survived it before… How did she do it in the past? Did she bury herself under her covers? No, she breathed… in and out and in again… that’s it… treat every moment as though you chose it. She chose this moment. It was hers… So what does one do with the moment one has chosen…? She’ll tell you when she knows…

Halfway

I forbid my learners to use pencils in class.You see, they strive too much for perfection. They write everything in pencil then rewrite it all in pen and, like magic, they produce perfect work – but all the content incorrect. I want them to learn that learning is a process that is not always perfect…

I just hit the halfway mark of the red abyss. That’s right girls and boys, it’s exam time! looking back on the first half, it has been anything but smooth. some days I would only get through 3 or 4 scripts. It’s a rough time in my personal life, you see, and that just spilled over to my work – it happens. So these past 2 weeks I’ve pretty much felt like one of those cartoon characters that gracelessly stumble down a hill hitting their heads and butts and shoulders and faces all the way down the hill and landing with a thud at the bottom. 

But somehow, I am still intact. I think that’s what counts: arriving in one piece, or at least arriving. That’s what learning is about. So clearly I need to take my own advice. Hopefully, the second half of the redabyss will be much less painful though…

G-String

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In case you were wondering, the G-string is the 4th string from the 1st string on the 6 string. The 6 string I’ve been plucking since my youth. The axe which turns my insides into goo. To know that these fingers can produce a metal melody. I love the rhythm and the blues and the notes that say the words that I myself cannot weave together as beautifully as these fingers do. I wish I was better at it, wish I could stretch my fingers further. I wish they were not this lax, this stuck in their ways. This old dog has new tricks to learn. Learnning takes time and practice and practise takes time. And progress is slow and small, but progress all the same. And so I must pluck and pluck and pluck some more. Until the progress is no longer so small.

Revolving Door

He was coming to pick her up! Her heart quickened and her breathing escalated. “It’s not what you think”, she said to the wide eyed bantu and stomach knotted dork that staired back at her in the mirror. She put powder on her face and a bit of mascara. She kept her tshirt on and pulled on a pair of jeans. “He won’t even notice”, she reasurred her reflection.

She climbed into the passenger side, pleasantries and directions were passed over the hip hop on the radio. “It’s gonna be a drive to get cash then a drive to fetch the vegtables. He’ll drop you off and that will be it”, she said over and over in her head. There was no more talking. He looked ahead and she looked out the window.

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Eventually, he drove her home and the entire time she braced herself for the final goodbye, never to see him again. He pulled over at her gate, switched off the car and opened the car door – no goodbye yet….

He came in and it was like it used to be. They giggled reluctantly, teased and got caught up. They shared music, then listened to it -not much was said after that. He stretched out on the narrow couch and soon so did she. Before they knew it they were intertwined -no other way to fit onto that narrow chocolate couch. She played with his big toe and he tickled the bottom of her feet -it wasn’t funny, it was familiar…

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She is his revolving door – she will keep rotating – seemingly out of control-but always with arms wide open to him… That is the long and short of it…