walk

Yesterday I was a cesspool of stuck energy and unproductivity. Sometimes the freelance lifestyle leaves you feeling cut off from people. All alone at your desk in your thoughts in your head. It wasn't that, though. Sometimes its easy to get too wrapped up in other things and to neglect being at your desk. Sometimes you crave the time alone, just being able to shut the door on the world. We've been doing some light renovations. Turning a grotty outside room into a yoga room/meditation room/gym room, depending on who you are in the house and what you think the space will be perfect for. I've been dealing with builders (well, to be fair, only one very talented easy to be around guy from Natal called Senzo), hardware store visits and the pitfalls of designing by committee. My partner and I share a house with a friend. There's a reason why playwrights favour a cast of three - more chance for triangulation, and draaamaaaa....

Anywaayyy, I needed a walk. One of the things I don't like about Joburg is the fact that its not entirely a good idea for a girl to walk on her own, and I need my walks. I come from a long line of walkers. they say its not safe. Not that I've ever been in trouble. I'm a lert, I've got a nose for danger.

I like my neighbourhood. Only been here a year. Two blocks down is Louis Botha, home to lots of Congolese, Nigerian and Zimbabwean small business owners. I love the vibe. And yes, we do hear gunshots on a Friday night quite regularly. Well, the last two days were Diwali fireworks. Two blocks in the other direction is old money and linksfield ridge, established homes with big trees. It's a neighbourhood in transition. I love it.

I don't know any better mental health maintenance system than walking. Unless maybe writing. I come from a long line of walkers. When the oil runs out we'll be ok, me and mine. We got good legs.

Kallenbach drive takes you up suddenly, a gasping thigh stretch. I have to do this, and alone. its that or eat live boyfriend for dinner. my patience is stretched tighter than a piece of legen* on a charcoal carrier's bicycle. I need to stomp. and swear.

Kallenbach drive takes you past Spanish style villas built on old Joburg mining money. Whitewashed turrets and red tiles next to the steel and glass of the late 70s mansions behind their gliding gates. It lifts you up and out of rush hour traffic faster than a cable car. And my, but Joburg is looking resplendant, the old tart. She's like an old drag queen with a new lease of life. Three soaking rains have cleared the air of pollution and standing on top of the ridge you can see all the way to the double penises of Sandton. Look out over clotted Jacaranda and hot blushes of bouganvillia. Gone is the highveld beige, mauve is in and its all foamy and delicious, puffed sleeves nogal, on the greenlined streets. The air is thick with the mating scents of flowers and birds are delirious.

Needless to say, my mood clears like carbon monoxide on a wiff of jasmine breeze.

I'll not be chatting much here in the next wee while as my computer has been making some alarming distress signals and its going to the doctor.

Thanks all of you for your sweet kind comments and feedback. It really means a lot.