Memories of January


There were a couple of messages for me this morning; all of them from Africa. My heart ached. I left them unread. I left everything as it was. Yet everything still changes. I follow my intuition on the good days. The rest is just a mess of impulses that can strike at any time. I’m riding the wave that is life with all I have.

This morning I woke up with a terrible feeling that settled into my chest and refused to let go. That perhaps it isn’t enough. That perhaps there is more of what I can do. And the truth is, there is. But right now, it is all I have.

The first week went by quickly. Central, early morning. Not even nine o’clock and I am already stepping out to Des Voeux Road. Not that I have to, but I am wired and high; ecstatic for each new day. And when it’s sunny and blue, I am really happy inside out. It’s not something that you would hear me say a lot. Without a routine, I function freely. Day-to-day I make plans and lose myself in my imagination. Sometimes I take it too far and it’s difficult to tell where the line is. But those days are scarce. There are so many things I want to do.

Club 71 is the only place we frequent. If at all.  That one mid-week surprise outing to the cinema saw us there again. Clouds of Sils Maria awakened my European senses, but I wasn’t homesick afterwards. It’s hard to believe that she is fifty. And for the time I thought I could relate to Stewart. Apart from seeing this one film, I am keeping to my steady diet of American crime television shows. After a long day, a little bit of humor between Steve and Danny is all I can handle. It is horrifying as much as it is sad but looking at Hawaii fills me with positivity.

Other good things: Simplicity. How to live in a shoebox. On being empty: when a writer isn’t writing. Redefining mental illness. Illustrations of every David Bowie haircut from 1964 to 2014. And everything Walter White ever wore in Breaking Bad. What to write about when you don’t know what to write about. Also for the fifth time Ira Glass’ motivational kick. Why broken sleep is a golden time for creativity. Respect the architect. Paintings and prints by Kai Samuels Davis.