December 29, 2002, Cape Town

Well. Tomorrow the big trek begins. We're leaving for Durbs at midday. There'll be four of us in the car so it will be a tad squashed (but we'll be really close at the end of the journey). We're driving up through Bloem and then down into Natal, which will be interesting personally because the last stretch will mirror all the holidays to Durban our family took when I was young. I wonder how much of it will have changed.

So New Year in Durban. That should be entertaining. Then up to Joeys to drop Ben off (unless he catches a lift with Taylor in which case we may skirt Joburg but will probably avoid getting too close, traffic and all). From there Rory and I head up to Nelspruit and begin a month of unknown labour on a game farm. That should be entertaining². No idea what we'll be doing. It might be anything from shovelling shit to shooting and skinning animals (unlikely though, I suspect there's an art to the latter so I doubt they'd give it to two city slickers). No access to a computer for a month. Even the old cellphone will be stashed in the car for emergencies only. Going cold turkey you might say.

We're there until the end of Jan at which point we'll head back down to Joburg where I'll drop Rory off (he's staying with his sis for a week) and I may slip up to Pretoria to see a friend. Then it's down to Cape Town all by my lonesome self. I'm actually really looking forward to it. I enjoy driving long distances alone. I find it quite liberating. 1600 kms should do it. It's the furthest I've driven alone, so it's a bit of an experiment. Actually, the next month is one long experiment. Well, to be honest the next year is a bit of an experiment.

December 29, 2002, Cape Town

It's 4am. Just got in from Corner House. This would be surprising to most people I know, including myself, if it weren't at least the 4th time in about a week.

Never thought I'd ever pour that much anger into "How you remind me" on the dance floor. Never. But I shouldn't read anything into that. Music is built to affect you like that. You don't affect the music. Ever.

Keeping myself quite busy. Scratch that. Keeping myself immersed in noise. But in a week's time I'll be in the midst of a silence not possible around here.

And then we'll see what demons come out to play.

December 29, 2002, Cape Town

I need control. It's an odd realisation to have experienced but I think it's true. It's certainly true at the micro-level for me. It seems to be important to me that I make things happen. Be it getting together with someone specific, or getting something done at work, or dealing with a problem at home. I need to take control of it and direct it so that I'm happy it has been resolved or is going my way. Not always in the most timely of fashions mind you, but this is probably proportional to how important it is to me. It's odd because one of the things I've felt of late is that I have no long term plans and that I'm just drifting. So how do we reconcile these two diametrically opposed facets? Do we look for some unifying framework or do we accept that we have two distinct irreconcilable models for James Greenfield version 1.0 and run with that?

December 26, 2002, Cape Town

A good Christmas. Plenty of food (isn't there always) and a good time spent with the important people. Not all of the important people unfortunately, but what can you do?

So where to from here? Change is in the air. It's definitely the end of an era. A part of me kind of wishes things could revert to an earlier safe state. But I look back on the last 25 years and there are a number of points in my life where I might have asked for the same thing. Had I actually been granted the request I'd have lost out on many good things. There are people I would never have met, things I would never have done, places I might never have been. So no regrets.

I've been thinking about long term plans. Mostly in the sense that I don't really possess any. Perhaps this is a good thing because it means I am not limited by distant goals. Perhaps it is a bad thing because I am drifting aimlessly. Perhaps it is time to acquire some.

Time to see the world?

December 24, 2002, Cape Town

Christmas eve. Home alone. By choice mind you, so we'll have none of that. However it does mean this is going to be a bit of a grab-bag.

Just watched an episode from one of those stock standard "small family struggling with the daily rigours of life" television series. The grandfather had a stroke and the family had to make a decision about whether or not to keep him on life-support. Now normally these things are largely inconsequential in my life. I suppose it might be the time of year, or the fact that I am home without company, but this time round it really struck home. Even though the circumstances were different the script-writer clearly had some personal experience to draw from.

I remember not really feeling anything when my mother passed away. I still remember the last conversation I had with her. By that time the cancer had pretty much done its work and she wasn't making much sense. I dealt with that like any well adjusted kid does - by gliding through the moment as though it were the most normal thing in the world. I regret that now. Even though it didn't make any sense, I do wish I could remember the last thing she said to me. It was a long time after she left us that it really struck me that she was gone and there was this hole that would always be there. I remember sitting up at the end of our garden on a bench made from an old railway sleeper and suddenly being overwhelmed by tears. I don't cry but that morning I sobbed until it pained me to breathe.

And while I'm sure you didn't need to read that, tough luck. I needed to write it. This is my space.

Dug out an old collection of pieces of paper today. Memory is such a funny thing. It can remain totally dormant until something triggers it and suddenly it all pours out. Like a really viscous fluid in a jar, it's all or nothing. This particular batch was quite an odd mix. There were some poems by ee cummings, given to me by someone special a long time ago, and oddly apt now that I read them again. There were also two postcards with pictures of the Mandelbrot set, which I bought on my first trip to London. And there was a piece of paper with the words "Bitch Alert" in the middle in the largest font our printer could manage, with pictures of various flowers making up a border (to take the edge off). There was a second piece of paper with instructions to turn right and take the fire escape down one flight before using the lift in our block of flats.

The last one requires a little explanation. I shared a flat in Claremont with my cousin and a close friend for about a year while at university. The woman next door was a tad sensitive to noise (I'm pretty sure she would lurk next to her front door waiting for victims; we were not her only victims). She lived to our left so the sign went up to ensure our guests would avoid passing her door. I have a vivid memory of her knocking on our door at about 9pm one evening to complain about the noise. This was extremely amusing since she had to wake us up to answer the door (the previous evening had been rather loud and long, oh, and in another part of Cape Town). Needless to say there was no convincing her that this was the case.

I think pretty much everybody I know at some point when they were young wrote poetry. Most of it is pretty bad and I'm not going to subject you to my mounds. However, I am going to quote from a sonnet I wrote, the rhyming couplet to be precise. Not because I think it's an example of singular genius (but don't let me dissuade you from believing that if you're so inclined), but rather because it captures how I'm feeling now and because it sums up (as I believe poetry should) quite succinctly that part of me that is so terribly nostalgic.

"Memories, though we laugh or cry, it seems
There is sadness in what may have been."

December 21, 2002, Cape Town

Everything here reminds me of you.

December 19, 2002, Cape Town

Otto left this morning. I see him again in Feb. Marc is out of the house at the end of the month. Ben is around for a month or so.

Things change. It comes to an end today.

December 18, 2002, Cape Town

I dreamed about you last night. It was one of those dreams that is so real you wake up convinced that the events/situation portrayed is the reality of things.

I guess I've fooled myself into believing things are getting easier. They aren't, I'm just getting better at keeping busy

December 12, 2002, Cape Town

"No one promised us tomorrow."

-- Author Unknown

I stumbled across this proverb today, apparently of Hawaiian origin. It struck a chord. If you spend all your time waiting for tomorrow then what happens when tomorrow becomes today?

December 11, 2002, Cape Town

I was looking for some lyrics today and came across this. It pretty much sums things up.

December 11, 2002, Cape Town

Goodbyes are never easy. They're even harder, though, when you weren't sure you would have the chance to say them.

Don't forget me, because there's no way I will ever be able to forget you.

December 10, 2002, Cape Town

Why do I get the feeling life is telling me "Seek elsewhere"?

I'm playing a lot of pool at the moment. I think the attraction is the noise. Anywhere you typically find a significant number of pool tables you find noise. Usually fairly loud noise. And people. And more important, people I don't have to interact with, but who provide a background filled with static. It provides me with necessary distractions.

December 10, 2002, Cape Town

I hate this.

I'm not sleeping. I have to keep going to the point of exhaustion or I just lie there in the dark for hours. And to make matters worse I'm wide awake at the crack of dawn, even if the margin for sleeping is of the order of an hour.

Why? No. Sorry. I know why. What I mean is I used to be able to switch this stuff off and deal with it later, when it was a distant memory. That always makes these things easier; puts them into perspective. But I haven't been able to do that for more than an hour or so at a time. And then it all comes pouring back in and I'm miserable again.

I'm actually looking forward to just disappearing next year. Can't happen soon enough. And I should imagine it will be fairly easy to do so down under. It's almost as far away as I can manage timezone-wise, which should help.

I keep telling myself things will sort themselves out. And no doubt they will. Probably. Doesn't do much for the fact that I feel like crap at the moment. And everything, everything, is a reminder.

As much as I'm going to miss this place, it will drive me crazy if I stick around.

November 17, 2002, Cape Town

And so it ends. Now we pick up the pieces.

October 24, 2002, Cape Town

On my way home last night I watched the moon fall through the leaves of a tree overhanging the road I was on.

October 18, 2002, Cape Town

I let someone really important to me down today. Today of all days when they needed me more than ever. I have no excuses. What's more important is that I have no way to make amends. What is done cannot be undone. The damage is irreparable.

But what is most important is that I really, really hurt them. At a point when they were already hurting and needed my support I wasn't there and they suffered because of it.

What makes us do this to the people we love?

October 18, 2002, Cape Town

Today I saw my sister after a 12 year separation.

I can't really explain what it felt like. The years didn't matter, it was the same smile, the same eyes, the same laugh I remember from all those years ago. Instead of a stranger standing in front of me I saw my sister.

My sister. It has a nice ring to it.

October 14, 2002, Cape Town

Today I was sitting on a blanket in the sun in our garden when a large lizard emerged from an adjacent flowerbed and settled into a spot in the sunlight on my blanket. He sat there for about 15 minutes, a single wary eye cast in my direction. I didn't make a special effort not to frighten him off, he seemed satisfied that I didn't represent an immediate threat. After soaking up some rays he scampered off into the bushes on the far side of the lawn.

This was a pure moment. They don't come along often but when they do do yourself a favour and stop what you're doing and take in every detail. You'll never regret it and there are few things in life I feel confident saying that about.

August 15, 2002, Cape Town

You don't always get what you want.

August 10, 2002, Cape Town

Few things are more pleasant than the sound of a tree creaking in a summery breeze.

August 10, 2002, Cape Town

Well, it's certainly been a while since I put anything down here. The reason I'm back? Not really sure. I've been doing a fair bit of thinking over the last few days. About what? Again, not really sure, or rather, nothing and everything. I've rediscovered friends that have always been there and an enemy (myself) I never realised I had. Interesting times are ahead.