Je suis tres tres desol
ée that I haven't written all week. I don't think I've ever been this busy in my life. I barely had time to breathe let alone think up blogpost ideas. The pile of work looming on my desk just doesn't seem to be getting any smaller. Quite the contrary – it seems to be growing bigger... and bigger... I actually heard it laughing at me this morning. I swear I saw teeth. (Or maybe that was just a result of the preposterously strong pain killers I'm taking for my knee.)
This rain is doing nothing for my weekend plans. Me and my lovely girlfriends (including
Vivi&Lola) are heading to Vaudeville later. I intended to wear my very small and very tight and very black, hold-my-breath-to-zip-up, no-lunch-allowed Kate Moss dress out on the town tonight. But screw that idea if the heavens are still open. It's back to winter skinnies. Luckily, in Joburg last weekend, I had a moment of sheer sagacity and realised I needed a new look to match my new socialite tendencies. Mother, who was even more excited about this than me, drove me straight to Sandton City and we spent the day looking in Mango, Forever New, Sissy Boy and Country Road for hot new going-out attire. She continued to load my changing room with everything from lace and sequins, to leather, silk and spandex, and I came home with a new eclectic wardrobe with which to grace Cape Town's nightlife. But what I find always happens is, my first night out arrives, and I actually struggle to put together an outfit as nothing matches! Or rather, the things I picked were so outrageous and daring (I must've been in a shopping trance) that I'm simply not brave enough to sport them out in public! Oops.
So I have injured my knee (blasted trail run... Or was it the stilettos and dance-floor moves?). This is shitty for a number of reasons. Firstly I can't wear heels. I know right – I mean WHAT in heaven's name am I supposed to go out in tonight? FLATS?? People will stand on me or mistake me for a drink stand! Secondly I am not allowed to dance for 2 weeks. Not only will the Tiger Tiger speaker suffer from severe withdrawel symptoms, but not being able to tap and do modern leaves me feeling very much unfulfilled at the end of each day.
...I am allowed to cycle. Whoopee. Let's have a cycle party. Not.
On top of that I have to endure an hour of pain twice a week as my physio pummels the shit out of my ITB and nails my glute muscles, while I cling to the bed with white knuckles and curse him for the agony he is causing me. I think to be a physio you have to have an element of sadism in your personality.
On Saturday a friend and I have decided to hit V&A. To find sequins. We crave sequins. And we have heard via the grapevine where we can find tops with said sequins. Unfortunately new sparkly tops means we must go out for 'Round 2' for world to witness new sparkly tops. After a Tashas lunch we intend to find some rose bubbly (and also create a new look for my blog because I am not vibing with the current design) and prepare for a second night of revelry. I'm so excited I would literally jump up and down if it weren't for my blasted shifted knee cap. I'll have to clap enthusiastically instead.
And last but not least, I got home last night to water cascading down the steps from my apartment front door. Staring stupidly at the sky to check if it was raining without me realising, I was soon to find that it was coming from my front door. Rolled up my jeans and waded through 4cms of water to fetch the mop and bucket and spent a good 2 hours playing char and flicking water out the front door, then doing an attractive towel shuffle round the kitchen to try soak up the remaining H20. Lame washing machine decided to implode in my absence and give me my very own indoor swimming pool. Had to read my book with goggles instead of reading glasses before bed. But swam a few laps before work today.
I must get back to the pile of work, which is now starting to lean to the left like Pisa. I've got till 5pm and a bag of muesli to get me through. Ready, set, go >>
