good morning good mourning

Trigger warnings for whining, whingeing, bitching, moaning, groaning and griping.

I had to log out of wp on this app and stupidly left my 4 or 5 drafts as local ones… logged back in and naturally and as surely as a magician wafts a silk handkerchief over a top hat, they were all gone. RIP little post foetuses. On the upside, I shall now refer to them repeatedly and wistfully as ‘the posts that got away’ and claim that they were brilliant etc.

{Wtf blah stop typing shit now.}

Yesterday was a little weird. It started well, with a sunset walk, followed by a surprising amount of housework, but when I was washing dishes, tears appeared – the hot kind that seem to leak down your face in sheets. I could probably generate more words for tears than penguins can for snow. The phrase ‘kitchen sink drama’ slithered across my mindscape and I grinned inwardly at it all. I’d already done a bit of embroidery that morning, vacuumed, fixed an outlet pipe, fetched water from the rainwater tank… Chop wood, carry water much?


After that, my day was fairly fucked. I think I cried my way through doing the laundry and hanging it out. I know I sat on the floor and cried for a bit, and that my dog retreated rapidly and stared from a safe distance. I was sitting at the top of my steps, weeping gently, when my neighbour walked in. She asked me what was wrong, I told her a sanitised version, she rubbed my back sympathetically. She said she had to go and have breakfast with the bf, and asked if I needed anything. I said I’d run out of fruit and she replied, “sorry, that’s the only thing I can’t help you with.” A bit later, before I walked to the shop, I stuck my head through her (open) front door to see if she needed anything. She took a naartjie off the top of a very large and full fruit bowl and said, “well at least I can give you that”.

1430049865-1The Internet had been down the night before and was still down until late afternoon yesterday. I’ve probably mentioned before, that my WiFi comes from a mast on a dune; the solar panels and so forth had been stolen from it. It’s the second time it’s happened and it takes a while for them to get new parts, then climb the dune to fix it. I hope they don’t decide it’s not worth their while having a mast here. Their security is stupidly crappy.

By then, the raincloud over my head had shifted to ear level. I messaged nextofkin and here’s how that went…

Me: how are things?
NoK: same old, same old.
Me: I don’t actually have anything to say, I’m just touching base.
NoK: me too really.

Nextofkin is a truly lovely person and would have listened and understood. There’s not a lot they can do from 6,000 miles away though, and so by the time I’d reached the second sentence of that chat, I felt distant and muted. Sometimes the skin hunger feels like an open wound. Sometimes I’m desperate for a real hug. My closest friend here is kind, but not cuddly. I read some fluffy existentialism instead; the tl;dr of which, is basically that knowing that life has no meaning is freedom, because you are free to find or forge your own. I can’t even face the drive to the nearest town.

The butterfly that stamps and causes tidal waves needs to stop tap dancing on my fucking head.

… well I wrote the preceding babble at around five this morning. I was extremely surprised to see that it made sense and wasn’t full of errors. I went back to sleep afterwards and when I woke, I felt OK. Brought in yesterday’s laundry and put another lot in, filled the sink with dirty dishes and hot soapy water; I think the soak cycle is very important don’t you? It’s not procrastination at all… I was making my bed and putting away stuff, when I found something (it doesn’t matter what) that kneed me violently right in the memories. It happened yesterday too, with something else. Tears welled up and pooled in my lower eyelids and I glared at the sink, wondering if I shouldn’t just embrace the kitchen sink melodrama and go and wash the fucking dishes with saltwater again.

But then the phrase ‘kneed me violently in the memories’ sauntered into my thoughts and so I sat down to write that paragraph instead. Blah ‘I brake for words’ polar, at your service. Don’t get excited, I said that in the manner of Balin upon meeting Bilbo. The book, not the 15 year mega epic saga films, orcdammit.

1430080389-1I managed to do the dishes and scrub the microwave without weeping into either. Then I sat down, told my friend about the things I found and the fecking tears welled up again. Where do they go, when they do that without spilling, then stop? I have some wise crone domestic god advice to give you. Putting hot chocolate powder into your dog’s bowl is not the best way to make it. Reaching into the fridge and grabbing a bottle of tomato sauce to drink is just stupid. Please note that the water is in a five litre bottle, while the sauce occupies a whole 750ml. I graduated from putting the butter in the bin and rubbish into the fridge a long time ago. Soon the washing machine will make a noise like tinnitus and I will obey its call; I am at the mercy of household appliances this weekend, it seems. If the vacuum cleaner looks at me funny, I’m just going to leg it.

Did I already tell you I cleared the dogshit from the garden? The heights of glitz and glamour in my life know no limit.


Anyfeckingway, the tears were banished, a cigarette was rolled and here I am, lolling indolently on the couch, watching the clouds go by and emptying my head here. I hope you took note of the fact that a butch woman can be in touch with her feminine side… That’s the societal conditioning edition of feminity™, which isn’t even remotely related to feminism® by marriage. I can turn anything into a monologue on identity politics, have you noticed? *flexes* I can embroider your name and beat up your boyfriend. I cut my embroidery thread with a hunting knife that I call the zebra peeler. Rawr etc etc.

I wouldn’t beat him up, but I could.

Too busy today though, a housebutch’s work is never done.

I wrote you guys a limerick, I hope you like it. If you do, help yourself and do whatever you want with it.



Published by


battlescarred, bright, bewildered, bent, blue & bipolar

35 thoughts on “good morning good mourning”

  1. re neighbor: BAD BAD fruit bowl reproducing like that!!! Jeepers ..

    What is a naartjie? .. I’m going to guess a big melon so you could throw it at her.

    It really bothers me I can’t give hugs for real over the internet. After all this time you’da thought they’d have found a way. Skin hunger is a very very common thing, most of my friends on the internet are slowly fading from it (ok fading is a very tiny word in this instance). I am so sorry.

    And maybe dishes are better off for having salt water.

    I wish I would do housework before my jags!

    and that is the last inappropriate thing I am going to say. I think the lolling would have been your best bet from the beginning.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi thanks for the really kind comments, it all helps, when the world feels like rough sandpaper. A naartjie (narchie) is a little orange soft citrus fruit – maybe you know it as satsuma or tangerine? And regarding housework/jags, maybe the sodding housework causes the fecking jags… Erm no, I don’t need any more excuses to avoid it. I think fading is the right word; no touch = no acknowledgement from other humans = steady deterioration of self image. Not a good self image becoming a bad one, just a fading of any self image at all. First you wonder whether people can see you, then you realise they can see right through you only in the literal sense. Hungry skin becomes dessicated and flakes off till… lol I am a little ray of sunshine aren’t I… I’m OK though.

      Liked by 1 person

  2. A quickie stopgap comment….
    I had an strange feeling yesterday was ick ick over there. :(
    sending you lots of love until i can post a proper comment.
    (((big bear hugs)))))

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Sounds like a butch woman at the mercy of her fucking hormones and no, that’s not a platitude, that is a reality I understand from both sides of the gender experienced in the body. There is a wet dishrag that you can’t ring enough that estrogen blesses you with. Testosterone stops that up like magic but, damn it, sometimes a guy needs a damn good cry.

    I have a busy day but will drop you a line later today with a practical inquiry. There are some other more personal reflections winding me up but I think those conversations are better saved for the stoep. Will bring the fruit. :)

    Fine limerick too, china.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Full moon, so I could smear some of the blame on melatonin… Hope your day goes well, BRB building a bigger stoep to hold all the conversations :)

      Check you later bru.


  4. I was wondering about you yesterday. Well, I think we are all hitting that cycle of tears lately. Ugh..we aren’t all hormonal either, are we?? FACKIT. I think all dishes need a nice hot soapy soak.

    Skin hunger is a VERY good term I think we all go through. Damn, I keep sending hugs but they keep getting digitized into words. We can transplant organs into other bodies, carry out top top secret night-ops, and we can shame Putin, but we can’t send hugs?? What is the world coming too…tsk tsk.

    Everyone deserves human interaction-and not just a soothing back pat, but at least you got your little orange fruit thingy. We even have smaller ones that are easy for littles to peel called Halos. They’re quite adorable for a fruit. Now I want pineapple and fruit dip, but I’m too lazy to go to the store and get it. Meh.

    Telepathically sending you hugs. Did it work??

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Lol dude.. You made me emit a small yet audible sound that could be seen as laughter. So yeah, the hug upload worked, thankies. A halo is a mandarin, which is close family of the naartjie. A fruity high 5. What the hail is fruit dip though?


  5. I remember when I went to Veracruz, Mexico, I did a little tourist tour of a vilage and got a “healing” mud mask from a curandero (shaman, elder-healer). I love being pampered, too bad the “special” mud made gave me a rash. He also fanned me with palm leaves to do a “limpieza” or to clean my afkap. I think these traditions are comforting if anything. What are the elder healers called there, where you are?

    I smelt earth everywhere,
    thick and clean.
    I wanted to reach down,
    dig my ten fingers in,

    my ten toes, my arms
    and legs, to burrow
    my whole body in,
    and shed seven skins,

    my nails and hair,
    the white flints of
    my teeth and bones.
    I wanted to feel it

    cold and broken
    to touch all
    the life it held.
    I wanted to fill my

    mouth and eyes,
    ears and nose,
    to devour and be

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Fell asleep halfway through replying to this.

      A herbal healer here is an nyanga, shaman or witchdoctor is a sangoma. Pretty much the same mechanics as everywhere else plus the usual local flavour.

      This is about the closest I ever get to religion or spirituality

      Usually, wild places are the “holy” places for me. All very Whitman and Thoureau.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thank you very much for the links. I’m happy to see you’ve taken comfort in some of these traditions (sorry about the impepho). Strongs xxx


  6. Soak cycle is the only way I ever get dishes done. I work in short spurts. Glasses, silverware, plates, bowls, pans. All with a different batch of steamy soapy water. Five minutes here, ten minutes there…Roll a cig in between and work up the gumption to do the rest. It’s a messed up system but it works for my messed up brain.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. You’re a bit far to commute, I’d have to insist on an executive bicycle. Housework is vile – obviously fat easier for a loner than a family. I can build a laundry mountain range like no other though. Why the fuck do I need so many t-shirts …

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Because you are Sweatley :) and I have about 3 mos worth of laundry right now … still have never caught up from this last depression. Don’t want to, when it comes to laundry!!


  7. I just spent a chunk of time replying here, and the damn internet cut out exactly when I posted the comment.
    AHHHHHHHHHH! (I guess I shouldn’t complain after your losing a whopping 4 or 5 drafts.)

    I wrote about how sorry I was for your crappy day, and how much I love the limerick and that I want to print it out to post on my wall. I also signed off along the lines of “give my best to couch snoozeologist/beach leaping S.” and I wrote other stuff as well but now I can’t remember it. Drat!
    I better try to publish this in a jiffy before the internet gets me again. Hope you’re feeling much better!


    Liked by 1 person

  8. I need a professional boyfriend beater up-er. Where to post this wanted ad? Sending you some love from a shitty side of the world my friend. May more than the fourth be with you. ( Take the puns away from me gawd. )

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Great post of a freaking bad day. I don’t get why your neighbor is so stingy w/the fruit. When I get the whinges, physical labor–mowing the lawn, cleaning house, etc.–helps me get out of my brain and into my soul. I empathize w/your need for hugs. Sending you one now. You can also hug yourself you know. Wonderful lyric from a crappy day!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks for the compliment, comment and hug. Weird that all that cleaning didn’t sort my head a bit, but it all eased in the end. My neighbour is really great usually, I’ve decided to forgive her the fruit freak out hahaha. Thanks again.

      Liked by 2 people

  10. Washing the dishes with salt water…yes I have done that, They come out a but gritty but who minds?
    Sorry that you had such a tear filled day. Some days are so hard to get through. The world seems dark and hopeless…
    All the time I feel like that dark feeling is tugging at me…from behind me…waiting for the moment to drag me in…
    It is a terrible feeling when the depression overcomes you.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. We’re a strange population aren’t we? We all wish the others didn’t have to suffer at all, but we’re all relieved we’re not alone in it. I feel very fortunate to have found this online solidarity.

      Liked by 2 people

      1. re: “We all wish the others didn’t have to suffer at all, but we’re all relieved we’re not alone in it.” I thought you were going to say, “… but we lack the same compassion for ourselves.”

        Liked by 2 people

        1. The more we show support and compassion for one another, the more we learn forgiveness and compassion for ourselves.

          Our pasts wete riddled with people that made us feel guilt and shame. Being away from people like that, and surrounded by people who just accept us the way we are…..even if we change moods from day to day….is healing.

          Liked by 2 people

            1. Dang typos. And you are right, I feel much better, more affirmed, since I started blogging and have met you wonderful people. I do have some “live” people also, but to hear their support multiplied by several has really helped me.


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