Back by popular demand*

Right. So its been a while since I've blogged informatively. So here it comes...

After a severely stupid career change to teaching on high school level, I found my brain being sucked out by the mundane "tuck in your shirt" routines, and when I woke up 6 months later** I hadnt blogged and so much has changed. I'll spare you the finer details*** and just roughly sum it up.

WPCM and I moved to a farm. A cow farm/ lemon****. Its lovely compared to the broom closet we stayed in for the first 6 months of the year. And its cheaper. The first two weeks took some getting used to because we kept losing eachother in the house (Yes its that big!) and we were kind of used to being in the same room. All the time. ALL the time. Its quite refreshing being able to walk off to ANOTHER room and slam the door when I get annoyed. Walking off (two paces) and slamming the cupboard door just didnt have the same dramatic effect.

But its awesome. And we got a new dog named Tetanus. He has a lovely temperament and I may finally be able to fulfil my dream of volunteering for PAT (Pets as Therapy) with him by my side. I tried enrolling Rabies into the training program once, but after she bit the trainer*****, I realised it might not be wise to pursue her career as a therapy dog. And the organisation banned us. I think the big poo in coordinator's office didnt help either. Perhaps I can reconcile.

But, besides work sucking and life being really hard with the petrol prices biting chunks into my budget, life is great. Life is the best on the farm. WPCM helped a cow to calf the other day, birds wake me in the morning, lots of fish in our dam and a lovely man to keep me warm and loved.

I am happy. In my jean pant.

*And because, well, the grass was'nt really greener on the other side of the mountain... Sorry Kyk.
** In a puddle of my own dehumanising drool.
***Like how I have switched from Skip to Omo, because it really keeps your whites whiter and your brigh... Sorry.
**** An odd, but effective example of mutualism.
*****..the post man, the petrol attendant, my neighbour, Nina Swart from 7nde laan and a gr9 learner from the school I teach at...

Alsatian's Cousin.

On a lighter note:

Meet my new Border Collie Alsatian cross,

Tetanus.

Rabies and Tetanus...

Alsatian Cousin adaptation.

Were you and she lovers ?
And would you say so if you were ?
In a campsite. On a Friday. Passing my way.Oh...

Were you and she lovers ?
And if you were, then say that you were!

On a groundsheet
Under canvas
With your tent-flap
Open wide

A question at my desk:
P.s. was that your fiance with you?
(an ugly run in her brown stockings,
Is THAT the best you can do ?)
Oh, so I couldn't reply
But on the desk is where I want you.

So I ask (even though I know):

Were you and she lovers ?

Your worship needed a god.

You were like a religious fanatic without a god - unable to pray.
You wanted to write (wanted me to write).
What was it within you that had to open its mouth (within me)?
The story that has to be told is the writer's god who calls out of sleep, inaudibly: "WRITE"
Write what?! Dammit.
Your heart, mid Sahara, raged in its suspendedness.
Your dreams were suspended.
You bowed at your desk and you wept over the story that refused to exist.
(As over a prayer that could not be prayed, to a non existent god.
A dead god.
with a terrible voice.
You were like those deserted dreams who fascinated you.
I still fascinate you.
Parching in such a torturing vacuum of a god.
The gagged prayer of our instability was a god.
So was your suspendedness - a god.

Your worship needed a god,
And where it lacked one,
It found one.

RepetitionRepetitionRepetitionRepetitionRepetitionRe

Having changed my profession from corporate career lady to teacher*, I am experiencing a observable fact I have never had before. I am experiencing a observable fact I have never had before. I am experiencing a observable fact I have never had before. I am experiencing a observable fact I have never had before. I am experiencing a observable fact I have never had before.

Never, in my blessed life, have I EVER repeated myself so many times in one day. The majority of my damn class only listens when the words "break"** "boobs" or "free" are in the sentence. Try structuring the curriculum around that.

"This is for homework. Boobs." x 21

Repetition has become so bad during school time, that the rest of my life suffers because of it.

*Check out counter at Pick&Pay*:

The Pant: "Can I have bags please. Boobs...(15seconds)...bags, can I have them. Break...(10 seconds)... Can I have bags for my groceries please. Free..."

Check out lady: "Lady, I heard you the first time. And they are not for free."

The Pant: "Sorry".

The fact that I haven't been physically aggressive towards one of my precious little delinquents is only a gift from Naledi Pandor herself.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

*Somebody slap me.
** As in the time when you eat your sandwiches. Definitely not applicable to "Don't break that you little M)(*&#$%cker!!".

Ok. So I'm sure you'd like to know where I've been. Hell, I'd like to know where I've been.* I think it all started out wrong when I had to move over New Years Eve.**

So I had to downscale in living arrangements and lay low for a while. Konstabel Klein Piel had a price on my head and a warrent out for my arrest. Guess dog poop in a burning paperbag by a police officers front door doesnt say "Howdy doodie Neigbour". Or does it? Also maybe me sitting round the corner intoxicated and giggling "It wassant me" with a lighter in my hand might have tainted my NOT GUILTY plead. I had to move.

KKP went so far as to kommandeer the whole of Stellenbosch police force and fire bullets, sommer binne die bars opsoek na my. It was quite a fiasco. I witnessed something though which I shouldnt have and here I am. Jean Panty, not Pant. But more about that later.

Rabies haz a garden now. I haz a a bedroom window by the neighbours' toilet. I call them "The Fartsies". Or "The-Alarmsies-goes-offs-at-four-in-the morningsies". Or "The-steals-the underwearsies-off-the-washinglinesies".

In the mean time I have been staying at home and crossing phoenixes with fish in my new genetic modifcation lab, also known as the ktchen/ neighbours living room. When they click their remote my TV channel changes.

When they shower my electricity trips.

I have yet to meet them, but I figured I have the rest of my life to adjust and socialise in this witness protection program. Patience GRASSHOPPAR.

*Luckily my dog isnt wondering where I've been. Or the bank. I do however wish I could wonder where the neighbours are at times.

**Not move as in "slight shift of arse from left side to right side of sofa". Move as in pack up all thy belongings and relocate. Much like a nomad, cept with no lama milk.

Phoenix from the flame.

The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of something that is elusive, but attainable. A perpetual series of occasions for hope.

I wonder sometimes whether you approached me like you would fishing. Meticulously choosing the right bait, carefully preparing the hook, casting the line to the perfect spot.

I was elusive but attainable.

I was a perpetual series of occasions for hope. Occasionally.

And now? Now that you have caught me? Bait successful. Hook line and sinker. The proverbial Big Fish.

Will you unhook me and let me go, or will you break my neck cook me and consume me only to throw away whats left of me in the morning. Wrapped in yesterday's newspaper with the headlines telling the world that your boat has sunk. Reduced by flames. Smoke on the water.

I will rise,a phoenix from the ashes of your sunken boat.