Broken body, dorky live singing & potential hijacking in mid City

Sometimes, just sometimes, distraction of the shitty kind can work to remind you that although you think you’re at rock bottom, there’s always a few more rocks that allow you to slip just a little bit further down.

One of my brothers thought it would be funny to rugby tackle me whilst in mid  crouching pretzel, floating ostrich yoga position. Today I woke up with a sprained neck and torn back muscles. Super.  

Despite my brokeness and fleeting shrieks and wimpers, my mom demanded that I take her to a shopping heaven in the middle of the city. Even Glenda the GPS didn’t know how to get us there, which meant we were stuck in West street, Durban Central, in the middle of what seemed like a taxi war, a competition between pedestrians to see who could piss me off the most and a situation where we were the only white faces among a million black faces who all looked at us like we were circus clowns in a strip joint. We must have had our ‘begging to be robbed by city slicker gangster dudes’ faces on because, damn. If I didn’t wield my pepper spray and my mom hadn’t waved around her hair scissors (don’t ask) I can almost guarantee there would have been a mugging.

After it took me an hour to get from one set of robots to another, I eventually got us to Everlasting, the heavenly shop of our desire. Inside, we only had to contend with toothless security guards, metal gates and a line to the tills about a mile long.

In search of food on the way home, hours later, I was out voted when I suggested we stop to fill up my car. “Just wait til we get back to your neighbourhood,” they said, “its (the petrol needle) nowhere near the red,” they said. Needless to say, five metres later I ran out of petrol. Right in the middle of the road. Holding up traffic. My neck was sore, also my back. Then I ran out of smokes. Had to wait for my sister to come save us with a jerry can of vehicular goodness.

So, to recap: I had been driving around for over two hours on an empty stomach, my back and neck were killing me but my mom conveniently lost the ability to drive as she didn’t “know the area and was nervous” so I looked like an ostrich with the angles I was sitting at, I ran out of petrol in the middle of the road, holding up traffic and everything, without smokes, on the weekend of my deceased daughters birthday. Fucking super.

Anyway, when I was eventually saved a million years later, back at my brothers place I was fed anti-inflammatory drugs, poured coke and given a bean bag to prop myself up with on the couch. Once the medication had kicked in we chilled out some more over wine and Eric Clapton, who happened to be in the CD player randomly and also played at Kiera’s funeral. We thought it was an ironic coincidence and left him to be listened to in the background.

Saturday afternoon had us watching the rugga at Dros, which is very nice by the way. Particularly their upstairs area or the balcony outside that looks out onto the water fountain. Dros was followed by Mimo’s pizza and a live singer in the courtyard who I mentally willed to fall into the water feature or pond. What a cheeseball. He did try serenade my sister to her horror and our absolute sardonic delight.

All in all, a good ending to a very predictably bad day. Tomorrow will have us at the motor cross track with the boys bikes kicking up some dust and me hopefully not hurting my body any more than it is already.

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