If it wasn’t so cruel – it would be hysterical. Two to eight weeks he said. What kind of time scale is that? I mean what are those numbers based on – what kind of fucking swing in the dark – thumb suck bullshit data is that to give someone to process?

Two to eight weeks – its day two and I’m climbing walls.

The horribly delicious irony is I am that person who relishes a day of leisure – who frequently took ‘sickies’  to spend a day in the wine lands, who could never understand those people who got bored at home, Boredom equated to a lazy, uncreative, unimaginative person.  I am longing for my office, my work colleagues, the job, the projects, my team…oh the irony – I found something I love doing and now I am incapacitated – in a fucking scary way.

 Today is day four of an ever decreasing lack of vision in my right eye. I haven’t tested myself this morning – but I am pretty sure my vision has gone from being blurry to now not even registering a flicker.

It started out as blurry vision on Sunday  from what I had imagined to be a result of a long day of drinking with very little to eat on Saturday – a migraine without the headache. Sunday night paranoia crept in googling loss of sight… then I imagined a tingling sensation…a stroke…at my age…damit Kim all those cigarettes, all that booze; you’re going to be the girl that mothers warn their kids about! “She tried to get healthy – but it was too late…”

Then the urgent request for Opthamologist appointment on Monday morning. She kept asking me if I took pills – said it is a mystery and to go home and drink lots of water – I had no idea I looked like a druggie – then memories of being 16 and taking LSD came to mind…OMG – those long term effects of LSD that they kept warning us about! I googled…my wild days haunting me with every keystoke.

 I drank about 5 liters of water – did a couple of headstands – maybe I just need a bit of blood rushing into my eye socket. Monday night I phoned the emergency room – an amount of  R600 extra after hours – screw it!  I then drank a bottle of wine, got numb and slept. Maybe it had all been a dream.

 Tuesday – Doctors appointment – just down the road so I’ll drive – zero peripheral vision on right side – so probably a bad idea.

I think at this point – I am calming myself down, my mantra – you are going to be fine, you are always fine. But maybe this is the one time you are not – maybe this is it – no more getting by on a wing and a prayer – your time is up – this is why you aren’t married, this is why you have no kids – because it will be one thing you are grateful for  when you die a painful, ungraceful, sad death from the tumor in your eyesocket…

More tests – more letters I can’t see, extended silences from my GP.

“You need to see an Ophthalmologist” He says.

“Yes, but will I live?”

My voice is high-pitched and hysterical. I do dramatic well.

“Of course you’ll live, but let’s just make sure we diagnose you correctly – it looks like a ultrasensortythingymigig – which is cured by medication.”

Another Doctors room. Frigid, Sea Point unattractive receptionist reading me the fine print; a thousand ways for me to want to turn around and leave her alone to wallow in her miserable existence of a life. All I can remember hearing: “it might be hours…cash business only…up to R800 probably more…not medical aid approved rate.”

I asked if there are any ophthalmologists that are within medical aid rates – no answer. I didn’t care what she said – I may live – but now was I going to lose my sight?

The tiniest little eye doctor that ever was,  examined my eye – nodded his head when I asked if it was serious –told me all the worst case scenario’s… but that it should clear between  2 and 8 weeks.  A heavy prescription of cortisone for a month that only cost R11. My medical fees for such a diagnosis over the last couple of days have amounted to more than R1600.

The tears started the minute I left the car park – leaving my one good eye blurred – not ideal.

So here I am day two of my 2 to 8 week diagnosis of Optic Neuritis.

I wrote this roughly 10 weeks ago – since then I have been hospitalized, tested for MS – got some lovely photographs of my brain and my body poisoned and deformed by cortisone. It’s cool – I don’t have MS – but my sight hasn’t come back either. But it isn’t completely blind anymore – just shit.  I’m too angry and scared to go back to any of the Doctors – the tiny Ophthalmologist that correctly diagnosed me, has actually gone into retirement – maybe seeing how devastated he made me with his vague answers led him to believe he may not be so helpful anymore.

Since having this thing – I get to hear loads of weird and wonderful ‘eye’ stories, but I have yet to meet someone who has had this, or even know of someone who has had it! I would so like to get one authentic happy ending! Or even to know if ones sight comes back gradually, or do you wake up one morning and miraculously it is all back??

Anyway – I felt the need for an old friend tonight. An old friend born out of what I then construed as a tragedy…the irony.

I have had to have heaps of courage lately. I have been thrown into situations that demand it. I have had to have very strict talks with myself about this blushing business and I have listened and paid attention to every detail around me. I need to be at my most focused and productive. This is crucial!

Despite my achievements, despite my strengths and despite my courage there is this darkness which looms – that which threatens to ruin everything. That I will always be my own worst enemy; that when everything fails, I will only have myself to blame; that I have being given so much and yet I am undeserving.

What is it? What the hell is this darkness?

Or maybe quite simply I will always be a person of excessive nature. There is no balance. I am darkness or I am light. (A tad biblical maybe…)

Two wonderful things happened today; really wonderful because of the sincerity and unselfishness in their intentions. My friend at work left an orchid for me on my desk with a note “keep smiling”. I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that without her knowing it – it was the nicest thing anyone has done for me in a really long time! Then my yoga teacher gave me a huge hug after class. She said I had a really good class – she didn’t need to, and yet without her knowing it – it was so much of what I needed today. Here I am battling these inner demons, consumed with doubt, self-loathing almost and conflicted on every level – and out of the blue these women were there…

Courage to face yourself in the mirror perhaps and say you are okay. Courage to be selfless in your desire to make someone happy and wanting nothing in return.

Yes, I have been doing a lot of yoga lately, be the change you want to see in the world…mmnn I get it.

Its my lot to bear.

I’m still quite intigued – its almost hysterical – my complete loss of reality and logic at the most crucial time.

*cringe*

Oh my dear…at least you didn’t take that drag.

I have been listening to new music, beautiful music and it stops me for a while, brings tears to my eyes – because there is just so much I want…

The XX – Shelter

I find shelter, in this way
Under cover, hide away
Can you hear, when I say?
I have never felt this way

Maybe I had said, something that was wrong
Can I make it better, with the lights turned on
Maybe I had said, something that was wrong
Can I make it better, with the lights turned on

Could I be, was I there?
It felt so crystal in the air
I still want to drown, whenever you leave
Please teach me gently, how to breathe

And I’ll cross oceans, like never before
So you can feel the way I feel it too
And I’ll mirror images back at you
So you can see the way I feel it too

Maybe I had said, something that was wrong
Can I make it better, with the lights turned on
Maybe I had said, something that was wrong
Can I make it better, with the lights turned on

Maybe I had said, something that was wrong
Can I make it better, with the lights turned on

The city is hot and people are going through many emotions – there is that possibility of a fresh start, a healthier start, the chance to have a whole year of not making any bad mistakes, of eeking out the good life, being more grateful, less angry, less impatient, and more tolerant. Giving up bad habits, working harder, traveling more and fighting less. We are such creatures of good intentions and earnest desires. Yet – really we have no control.

So what is the secret or the answer to living well, making the most out of 365 days of the year? How do we improve ourselves, find honest love, sincere friendships, great passion and sturdy confidence? Sometimes I think the answer might be within our gut – the very thing that make no logical sense – that no one can point to and poke – the intangible – the spiritual – our instinct. That feeling you have deep inside – when you want to scream with laughter at the most meager attempts of hum our or burst into tears at the mere suggestion of someone else’s pain. What is it that makes us numb when compassion is too obviously the desired outcome?

There really is no truth. The only thing we can rely on is that we are completely helpless when it comes to the forces of nature and the realization that no other person in this world sees this world – this life – this journey in the same way. It is insanely, exciting and wonderful and at the same time earth grounding and humbling.

More often than not I really don’t like the places in my head where my thoughts drag me – why is that negative thought s and desolation are such hungry, insatiable rich harvesting places for the mind to imbue.

Then there is the physical. There isn’t too much one can do about that either. Unless plastic surgery lies in your path as a saviour. I despise that as an option. All I know is that I like unforgettable – recognizable, distinguishable, a star in the mundane of a toneless night sky. I like that. I appreciate that. Be different and proud – because under the skin – we are all different.  It’s the spice of life.

I also fear that my words will not in any shape or form really delineate life as I have experienced it – in this sentence I know beyond certainty that I don’t think I can ever write for an audience. I am a selfish writer. I crave that catharsis. I crave that clarity, that addictive high from taking out the knots. One of my favorite gifts for my birthday was a lovely multi-chained silver and gold necklace, adorned with hearts of all shapes and sizes.  SexyRed mentioned she was worried I would get irritated by the amount of times you need to untangle the chains – but somehow it makes the necklace that much more special. Time passes and somehow, gratefully many concepts for me become simpler – life starts untangling in brief dazzling moments – like this one, here right now in a new office, with new fresh energy, a fresh start and the world as my playground.

My passion in life is an unstructured thing. It is inconsistent. It comes in burst of flames after a prolonged coma. I will wake up in the middle of the night brimming with concepts, ideas, and carefully constructed fantasies. Once there is pressure, the flames are quickly doused.  Creativity; writing a hobby: an accessory which I love like hearts on a necklace!

So here I am a year older, most definitely wiser and still getting a thrill from the look of these words on white.

My words.

My creation.

There is nothing I ever want to take for granted.

Our cab driver was enthusiastic in his broken and cheerful English. (A language taught to him by his son, he was somewhat of a rarity as we were soon to learn.) He made a number of stops, pointing out the most bizarre looking monkeys, ancient baobabs and the spice plants. Then there was a palm tree that grew into a knot. He tried selling us Spice tours, snorkelling, island excursions and fishing trips, but we all had one shared ambition – which made us the best travel partners imaginable – to do nothing, epitomised in the ‘Zanzibar Pose’ Drink in hand , on a lounger soaking up the sun. Being still.

The first place we stayed, The Coral Rock Hotel, was managed by South Africans – so the welcome was warm and homely and it didn’t take long for us to strip off the city, order the local beer and delight in our first slow wade into the warm Indian ocean.

Sitting upstairs in a Moroccan furnished bungalow, we watched the Springbok’s play Australia and received complimentary Springbok’s shooters. Covered in tabard and lazy from our first day of travel and sun. The Springbok’s lost – but it was okay – we had a week left in paradise…

I have always felt a modicum of guilt about the fact that I have been to Europe and the UK and yet never ventured beyond the boundaries of Cape Town, Joburg and Durban. This was East Africa – and it is a jewel of a coastline.

The first couple of days – the only real decision to make, was where to eat. Our first night – venturing far wasn’t an option and we ate curries and seafood at the hotel. The next night we walked along the Jambiani beach for miles and miles. Stopped at a little beach bar which had recently burnt down then rebuilt. Dulla Chozzi who refers to himself as the ‘Director’ of the establishment, related stories about the fire – laughing and throwing up his hands, to elaborate the futility of the situation. A raging fire, warm wind, everything flammable. “You can only stand back and watch!” He laughs. Little did I know how his words would later come back to haunt me. After an extravagant meal at a nearby hotel and a somewhat overdone tuna fillet, we walked back to the hotel singing every possible cheesy song that could come to mind.

I missed out on swimming with Dolphins at sunrise; I am pretty useless with sea sickness and fear it like the plague – but my holiday companions came back with an almost spiritual glow of being so close to the amazing creatures.

We hired a mini van and drove through to Stone Town – A world Heritage site. Rich in history and almost mysterious in culture. Also the hometown of Freddie Mercury. The drive alone was an adventure. Roads that unexpectedly become one ways, dodging all bizarre and fantastical modes of transport from donkeys, to bikes and the local taxi: the dalla-dalla: marked by colourful wallpaper and people spilling out the sides.

So many unusual sights and sounds, it was also the time of Ramadan and being a Muslim country we had to cover up. It wasn’t entirely welcomed, as by now we were well comfortable wearing as little as possible.( Defiant by nature; the idea of flashing a knee and whisking out my rosary snuck into mind.) We had lunch in this gorgeous Arabic hotel, The Dhow Palace; resplendent with mosaic, ornate spiral staircases, black and white tiled floors and painted pots. Ordered Naan bread, ice tea and cokes and sat on the carpeted floor. There was this Arabic lavishness that appeals to me greatly, I know my Mom would have felt the same.

At this point cocktails were definitely in order and we stopped at Paja by Night on our way back – A funky nightclub type venue. The margarita went down like a dream and it was amazingly awesome to remove my nun like attire and dive into their pool! It was a tough day.:)

The second place we stayed was Langi, langi beach resort in Nungwi village. More of a tourist destination. A vibey beachfront, overflowing with beach bars, restaurants, diving schools, little markets. There was also music and finally sunsets – sunsets of the most beautiful kind.

Each day – we took turns in sharing our best moment of the day, normally during dinner and there were some good ones! The one I remember the most – was being grateful our bungalows didn’t burn down on the day of the fire…but that is another story.

We had breakfast each morning on a wooden deck overlooking the ocean – and if the tide was in, dived off the deck and straight into the warmest and clearest waters I have ever had the pleasure of swimming in!

I couldn’t tell you day by day what we did – it has all merged into one rather delicious and exotic memory. What struck me more than anything was this newfound sense of rhythm. There is a pulse to life, that underlying, omnipresent buzzing that exists wherever you are. Matching our rhythm with the slow, steady pulse of the island – you realise there is something sexy in slow. A deep satisfying happiness with a slow beat.

As I sit here in this grey little place, with the dreary weather outside, wearing my black blazer, hair tied up in a bun – I so long to be that other person again. The girl in a bikini; no shoes, unmade face, unruly hair. Sun kissed and content. But summer will eventually, hopefully come to Cape Town and I’m sure it will be another good one.

Ahsante sana Zanzibar – it will not be forgotten.

I know. I can hardly believe it myself.

The DanceFloor Tragedy, with all my drama, heartache, work stresses, excessive punctuation, anger, emotional turbulence…. on a paradise Island.

I will cease to exist in this current life form. I am going to morph into something buttery, something tanned and happy. I will be submerged in waters, I will wear silly goggles, float above fishy creatures… I will laze on the beach in humongous sunglasses, I will drink margaritas with my feet in cool white sands.  It will be all blue and white and warm and palm trees.

I will forget my name…

She works magic with arty software that I have no knowledge of and her fingers whizz over the keyboard with dizzying grace.

She designed my header, but we were somewhat limited to what WP can offer. I still need to find a host for my baby, but I am excited that this is something which will continue to evolve.

You can visit her here:

Link Creations

Now I must find my boots – Long Street and a whiskey is calling my name!