Kachasu

Went to a dinner party at these very sweet friends of ours on Saturday night. They are into all this hippy alternative healing garbage. Nevertheless, they are two guys that make a very sweet and generous couple. HOWEVER. At said dinner party was this 60-something ancient Scottish crumbly thing who claims to be well on her way to enlightenment. Saying that absolutely everything is spiritual (at the time she was telling us how she cures junkies and drunks) and that there is no physical matter it is all just Maya (illusion). And the bad things that happen to us as far as health goes are all brought upon ourselves by negativity and fear.
Fuck that pushes my buttons. On many many levels. When my daughter was three she got cancer. How the hell did she bring that on herself? Never mind, says stupid chainsmoking spiritual guru effort, it is all Maya.
AAARGH! I am prepared to accept that we are spiritual beings have a physical experience (although this sounds a bit Scott Peck to me) but then that doesn’t make it any less valid or painful or joyous or REAL. If we are supposed to be physical (clearly we are cos I eat, shit, orgasm, cry and laugh) then why can’t we just be it? Why do these freaks keep on about how we must detach? I don’t want to detach. I want to live this thing to the very best of my ability. Feeling every single second. I never used to. I used to drink to smother reality. Now I see it differently.
No amount of chanting and aura cleansing, vegetable-eating and abstaining from sex would have got me clean and sober.
What enraged me more is that when my partner and I (me with four years and him with seven of sober time) try to explain the disease of alcoholism she just shut down. It is mental, physical and spiritual. We KNOW this. We are bloody alcoholics. She says it’s all just Maya-
I nearly took her eyes out with the paneer spoon.

Had a sleepless night because of this book. Not because it is scary (pfft – I spit on the scariest of scares) but because it troubled me in and out of dreams. It’s exceptionally plausible. Written just like a grand old family drama. Not quite as good as Galilee (Clive Barker) which I think is my all time favourite book, but up there.
So, as I dreamed I alternatively was a Mayfair and then was not.
Then I was hunting one… All too real. Anne Rice is a fairly good story-teller. I love being lost in books. Long before there was vodka and cigarettes, there were books in my world. Wonderful escape.
Then again, it could be to do with the bag of popcorn i ate just before bedtime.

Today is my last day in the orifice until January 8. Thank God. I have had enough this year. The bulk of my last afternoon will be spent with some scumbags from an event execution company that are trying to screw me out of R350k. Lawyers, lawyers and more lawyers. Sometimes I hate my job. Not all the time, by any means. It is great to have minions and be the one that pays the salaries, but I could do without the bullshit at times.

Never fear, fellow bloggers, I will try and post from the Karoo. Providing I don’t dissolve in the heat and if my iburst functions (probably won’t).

Some of you will be relieved to know that I do not have skin cancer. I sure am.