I'm sat at work doing the night shift at the Sunday Times in Johannesburg which gives a new meaning to the phrase graveyard shift. My Saturday nights are spent trying to keep awake and caring about cricket results. Then catching up with people who are too coked or drunk or just driving and trying not to think about getting hijacked or just trying to calm my overactive head down. Sleeping is a problem and it never used to be. Infact I'm not sure how all this happened but I don't know how to deal with it.
Being Libran adds a whole other unfortunate dimension to this.
Before you switch off this isn't a whinge fest more a request. It's me sat here in Maxmara feeling out of place. That face that looks back and doesn't seem to belong. Is there a country I'm missing, or a family, or are some of us just meant to be spectators wherever we go?
I live in a beautiful princess house with venetian mirrors, chandeliers and it's exquisite. Yet it becomes an echo that follows me of solitary refinement. Can too much space excaberate this sense that it's just you.
So I'm selling it.
You can buy my world if you want to.
