My Elle Notebook

There is a notebook for everything. I like to think and tell myself that nowadays. I don't why. Let's just say that I'm trying to pick up new habits as I go along rather than issue myself a whole lot of new year's resolutions. I can't think of them in one sitting so I might as well do this. So... I have this scribble-my-babble notebook that I love to take everywhere I go: the loo, the movies, Starlite (the so-called 24-hour diner down the street). It has no real narrative. It's just a whole lot of seemingly senseless words, names and lines all over the place. I had an idea that maybe I could write it all down somewhere in the random fashion that I have it in already but just a bit more logical, I guess.

Meeting Bagon in the afternoon. I hope he doesn't say something stupid like, "Ngiyakuthanda, Faith". I'm going to die if he does. Do any of the guys I meet in Cape Town have any other intentions besides bedding me? I know I'm not a particularly fantastic catch in relation to all the fish in the see but for the love of sanity, I am tired of meeting suitors in every man to my left, right and centre. It's bloody ridiculous.

Mom has good news. She sounds happy. Things seem to be sorting themselves out just fine over on the colder side of the world.

Yanga is playing soccer on Wednesday. Yeah, okay I'd be excited to go watch because I have nothing better to do but I would rather be home looking at the walls. Some people just don't get the message. Or they don't give the message. I don't know. Let's not dabble in that now.

Oh yes, then there's the profile: Manager at Woolworth's, may be transferred abroad to run Marks and Spencer. He's originally from East London and attended Dales College in King Williams' Town, Eastern Cape.

Little Bro is set for school. There's no backward-slide in view. I should put together a shopping list.

Oh yes, then the diet regime follows but I never follow it. I try but then I just forget to eat supper before 5 p.m. and I get hungry a day and a half later. I'll go about 16 hours without eating then I feel bad for eating anything because I fear that my body is trapping fat because I eat after a long time. I pump myself with water after buttering one slice of white toast. The guilt consumes me as I contemplate exactly what might happen to the slice of toast. Can't I just stop eating? I love food but I could live without feeling guilty about it all the time. Somebody just take me to the gym! No wait, I can take myself to the gym but I'm too caught up with reading to go. How is it that I haven't lost weight like other people do when they just stop taking sugar and cooldrinks and all that junk. THe closest thing to junk I've had was roasted chicken with mild garlic peri-peri basting on it, a portuguese roll and DIET COKE AND that was a long time ago. I'm getting depressed already because I'm hungry as it is and I'm scared of having a decent cooked meal. I'll google the cabbage soup diet. That's it! Right... I can't fool myself. I still don't understand why I'm fat and yet I hardly eat. I drink morvite for goodness sake! I read all the damn time. Oh it's just depressing.

Starlite (the so-called) 24-hour diner. I meet a very well-dressed charming man named Siyabonga. We shake hands and I commend him on his eccentric taste and ability to still look trendy. He grabs his hat and nods slightly in modest gratitude. How nice! A random good-looking, sensible young man who is not bolstered up by his ego! Siyabonga! Thank you!

dreams

I've been doing a lot of thinking and reading lately. I find I've had more time on my hands now than ever before. I'm living in a little cacoon and for once my thoughts have been about me and I've kept theem to myself in this cacoon of mine. For a long time I had nothing to do except to read, write and think. I did't have the money and time to blog for hours on end trying to write something interesting. At some point I decided to call my writing in a journal "ink-blabbling", so I've been "ink-blabbling" my brains out on a daily basis. I thought that was one of the best ways for a young aspiring writer to kill time. If I'm planning to be the writer of novels, I might as well start by getting used to just writing. writing at random did inject some fun into my long days of lounging about in the not-yet-homely flat. I've collected three notebook journals for myself that serve different purposes, of course. One is for recording things that I must note, another is for random rambling on the spot and the other is for dreams, budgets, plans and, basically, mind-mapping. Quite fun though. Ever since I got this blog I've been wondering exactly what to do with it. I made a decision today. It's mine. It's free and it's opportunity to play around while I'm young. So, just as it is in my journal, this blog is the canvass on which I shall reflect. I reckon it's a good way to get practising and anyone who stumbles across the page may enjoy a good laugh or may frown and move on. Does it matter? Not yet.

I've been keeping record of my dreams lately and I figure I can collect them and use them to inspire me to write captivating tales and paint my mind down the page. The pen (and, I guess, the keyboard too, now) is my brush and I shall (try very very hard to) be its faithful student.