Thursday 28 December 2006

Bearing my soul

Once upon a time, before we were born, there were all these lines. Souls could choose different lines to stand in. Each line represented various characteristics that the eventual human being would gain. There were lines for large foreheads, dimples, sunny dispositions, wealth, excessive ear wax... there were a lot of lines.

The catch was that the souls didn't understand the outcomes of the lines. One could easily stand in a line for halitosis thinking it was a good thing. (It isn't, for anyone confused about it.) But it did make the process democratic. Which was nice.

My soul appears to have stood in a hotchpotch of lines. Whereas I have friends that stood in the 'beauty' line, I happily waited in the 'good teeth' line. I apparently stood in the 'long lovely hair' line but then followed that up by standing in the 'chronic disease which may cause hair loss' line, and then I rushed off to be in the 'obsessive compulsive' line. I seemed to have missed the line for abstinence and control. I was probably gobbling up some lunch. (Souls need lunch, ok.)

So whenever I get the chance to converse with a rent-a-friend, otherwise known as a psychologist, I refuse to discuss my childhood. Would it be that easy to deconstruct my urges? I think not. It is time people embraced the fatalism inherent in soul choice. It makes eating that extra chocolate far less guilt ridden. I mean it was written in your soul code. How could you resist? Did you choose the abstinence and control line? No. You were eating lunch.

Wednesday 27 December 2006

The toilet is my new best friend

I am off the cortisone now and my bowel is not happy. It has its own party every time I eat something and then it greets its new best friend, bowl to face. While vomiting does feel cleansing to a degree, it is also incredibly tiring. I think it ages me. My face etches on a decade after each greeting. It is like seeing my morning face in the evening - a look that launched a thousand horror movies. Why exactly am I writing about this?

I have no idea.

Going green

Maria, my housekeeper, has gone home for the holidays. Most of the time she organises a replacement as I work during December. But this year, there was no replacement to be had. So today I cleaned. I don't mean just tidied. I cleaned. I used ammonia. I swept. I sweated. But most of all I was shocked at the amount of crap a single human being and her pets can create.

Where exactly does all the fluff, dust and other bits come from? I live in an apartment, not on a farm. Ok, so I have three cats who think shedding is a national sport but... still. I feel like I should go to a shedders/discarders anonymous meeting.
"Hi. I am 1+1 and I shed and discard."
"Welcome 1+1. The first step is to acknowledge the problem."
"So tell us the story of your dustbin. Do you recycle?"
(A nervous cough is heard.)
"Well? Do you?"
"Err... no I don't. I am too busy shedding."

Tuesday 26 December 2006

Scavenging and thinking

I went to find food tonight. There was nothing in the apartment, as usual. Ok there was tea and some tinned peaches but I wanted something that didn't come out of a case. It was almost 9am and I figured there wouldn't be a lot of places open. So I headed for Melville. It's the playpen of the alternative debauched.

I found a relatively acceptable place and plopped myself in the middle of Boxing Day stragglers. I drank a mineral water and some cafe latte. I had grilled hake with vegetable rice and some creamed spinach and squash. I ate. I read. I smoked. It was too much so I had it put in takeaway containers. I wanted sweet so I ordered a chocolate milkshake. I drank that so fast the waiter had suprised eyes.

I am reading a book on the life of a duchess in the 1800s. I had just got to the part where the author described the sumptuous dinners. Then the duke became seriously ill and the duchess was at a loss because her husband, the duke, defined who she was on so many levels. And there I sat, a single female, in an ordinary franchise eatery, on my own, in the supposed second most dangerous city in the world (Johannesburg). I paid for my meal with my own money and I smiled.

The public/private dichotomy

I have had Crohn's Disease for what feels like forever. For many years I just decided to ignore it. However, my body didn't cooperate with me. The disease got progressively worse. My denial became stronger, in tandem with any worsening. I felt like I housed a split personality. In private, I was in severe pain and tears. My public face could not have been stronger and more capable. Then 2006 happened.

My body revolted. For about 4 months I could barely hold any food down. I felt like the universe had decided I would be a bulimic whether I wanted to be one or not. There were days I couldn't get out of bed. My hip joints had become so painful that at times I couldn't walk. Then I would slide around on my bum, pushing with my hands. (Apparently as a baby I did this instead of crawling. Perhaps it was my way of returning to my childhood.) Food was the enemy yet at the same time I craved it every minute of the day.

I had an inaccessible gastoenterologist. If his appointment book wasn't full then he was away on conference or attending to family business. It was 5 months from the start of the severe symptoms that I was able to get an appointment. The consultation wasn't a success. He didn't see beyond the strong public face and wouldn't believe my words. He only scheduled an investigation for a month ahead.

Close to 6 months later, I went for the prerequisite blood tests. The gastro phoned me that evening. He proceeded to tell me how sick I am :| All I could think was that my explanation of what was happening had meant nothing. He actually didn't listen to me. At all. He checked me into hospital immediately.

This pattern of ignoring the human for the tests continued. In some macabre way it paralleled my reluctance to admit I had something wrong with me. It took 4 hospital visits, a change of doctors and a talking to from my family to get me to accept my state of health. Oh yes and a lot of laughter. When the first gastro told me I had a fairly rare form of Crohn's, I replied, "I feel so special." This humour wasn't shared by the doctor. (Is it part of the profile to have no soul?)

So now I Take Responsibility... which doesn't really gel with my life of no routine. The positive is that it has brought me my very own new obsession. I now log into a Crohn's Disease forum at least every few hours. Oh the joy.

Monday 25 December 2006

Old year, new year

The new year is so close, I can smell it. While logic dictates that demarcating time is an arbitrary exercise, and that it is no more the new year in 6 days than it is in 4 days, the idea still panics me. I look around at my life and the incomplete projects, and there is this pressure to create a clean slate for the new year. If I don't, perhaps it will taint the new year with any negatives of the old year.

Yes, amongst war, famine, crime and poverty, I choose to focus (and become anxious) about time. Time is an old foe. Whether its evidence confronts me in the bathroom mirror every morning (hysteria is not a great way to begin the day) or the sweat of a looming deadline makes the clock hands go into overdrive, time likes to bitchslap me constantly.

It could all be sorted if I was able to create a routine. I have listened to other people, eavesdropping on discussions of their day. People know when they are waking up. They have a set time to eat breakfast, to work, to sleep... whereas each day is a surprise to me. There are no mealtime plans, toothbrushing times and work schedules. It is me and my computer. Oh and the clock, reminding me that time is passing.

Perhaps 2007 will be the year to set routine. Or I could just go back to bed now and forget I had this specific impulse. I just yawned, so it looks like number two is winning at this moment.

Christmas bling

So I spent most of the morning and early afternoon watching the first season of The L Word. It was interesting. But maybe watching 13 episodes at once was overkill. The sex scenes titillated at first. Then they became routine. By the last few episodes I was off making tea while I waited for the plot to continue. It did make me think, however.

I get the sense that the intention of the series is to take something considered alternative, allow you to enter the world and then 'normalise' it. (I hate using the word normal. Let me not digress. Damn am doing it already. Okay end these brackets now. Aaaargh.)

It reminded me of the novel, Middlesex. The book jacket prepares you for a story about a hermaphrodite - a topic that pushes the alternative nature of alternative. But by the end of the story, it is irrelevant that the protagonist is a hermaphrodite. The reader is guided into embracing the humaness in the story. That is what The L Word represented for me. It is almost as if the director/s intended me to wander off to make myself something to drink. Because it really was just another sex scene.

I was also captivated by the portrayal of straight couple extras. The combination of good acting and cinematography meant that they consistently appeared prudish, uptight and distant. The viewer was watching the series with the eyes of a lesbian. This world was not distant, rather more real than the socialised representation of normality.

Back to the sex. (Doesn't it always seem to go back to that? Which is a good thing if you are getting it but verrrrry frustrating if you are a reluctant born-again virgin.) The initial portrayal of lesbian sex contrasted strongly with the portrayal of heterosexual sex. The former was positioned as more tender and gentle, even in the height of passion. Straight sex almost seemed animalistic in comparison. While both were raw, lesbian sex appeared more considered and more of a partnership.

However, as the series progressed the portrayal of sex changed. More tenderness was brought into heterosexual sex and more violence into lesbian sex. But this gradual change was balanced out with the viewer's acceptance of this world as a norm. The sex was no longer about fascination, in either case, but it reflected the state of the given relationship.

I must now hunt down season two.

Saturday 23 December 2006

Am changing festive to restive

Living in a city that considers crime a career path, it seems quite alright to live life on your own terms. Today is the day before Christmas. I have bought the presents, stocked up on mince pies and accepted the invitations. It's hard work doing Christmas when you are Jewish. Attendance of Midnight Mass is always such a huge question mark. Now all I have to work out is how I am going to pay the therapist to deal with my identity issues.

Today I am supposed to be at a braai. Ok a bring and braai. These days with every person brandishing their own intolerance, illness and general food lifestyle choice, a bring your own is the only solution.

But I don't want to goooooooooooooooooooooo. (Input whining.)

I am tirrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrred. (Add foot stamping.)

I love my friends but life in the work lane means I just have enough energy to fill my bowl with cornflakes before I hit the computer again. Anything more is just a luxury.

Although there is the guilt. How to explain my state of non-compliance? Guilt may just be the factor that drives me. I am not sure I would ever engage in much were it not for that double-edged sword.

Now all I need to contemplate is how I am going to clean the house (Maria is on vacation. I don't have enough tissues to tell you the impact.), wash myself and then drive over to the braai. Oh yes. And brush my hair. Ok forget the last. There's a limit.