Lockdown Day: 435

These past few weeks have been such a whirlwind. I feel like a confused cat most of the time because there has been such a lot of noise around me. I'm not talking about noise, as in the sex noises rising into the chilly night air in my complex. No. 

I'm talking about noise - various people and their constant chatter. I love it and I hate it. Ever felt like this? I used to love hearing my phone beeping because it validated parts of me. It gave me purpose. Someone needed me. When my phone pings at home now, it's usually a work message and it irritates me because I have to digest information even during my downtime and think critically about various issues when I'm supposed to be resting. 

About two weeks ago, I started blogging about the power of saying no.

Today I realise that saying no is not possible when someone hold's the fate of your job in their hands. Saying no during this pandemic to engaging with bosses at short notice is an absolute no. 

My brain is permanently tired of being tired. I think I've shifted from screentime of over 3 hours to 7 hours a day since I've started my new role. I'm hoping that things will ease, but what I'm realising is that, 'with great power, coming great responsibility'. I'm laughing because Peter Parker's uncle was spot on. 

Mmmmmm... Okay. Stan Lee. He was spot on. For now, I'm going to pretend that Peter Parker's uncle exists. That sort of magic is what I live for in my life. 

So that's work. My mother is also visiting and since I've last blogged, I've agreed to two cat adoptions, lost a cat, found a cat, and then lost a cat again. 

I've also had to explain why there was a stash of condoms under the pillows on my couch. The explanation didn't need to be given but I felt obliged to explain. I miss sex.

My mother is a ninja when she's alone at home. Will kill spiders in slow motion and keep them as proof, wash all the dishes, eat all the chocolate, make milk disappear and reappear, compact rubbish in the bin and make it disappear on the same day. It's quite remarkable. 

She's happy which is all I really care about. Although, she does get spooked when Eskom flips the switch on us at night. 

There's been a couple of occasions where she's been caught off guard and has had to shuffle slowly out of my room like a beaver in the sun. 

On one such occasion, I huddled under the duvet, silent on the outside but choking with laughter on the inside, watching her two-step towards her torch. I have an LED light. I have more than one LED light in the house but my mother fears burning the house down with candles and says the LEDs are complicated. So she hangs the torch on the wall next to her bed in preparation for nonsense like the dark. That makes sense to her but rarely is she ever in her room because she loves lounging on my bed most of the time - far away from her torch. I have measured it. She would have to take between 14 and 15 meticulous steps from my bed to her torch if the lights ever go out again (which it will) and she's stuck on my bed. 

The level of entertainment my mother provides outstrips, Netflix, Showmax, Amazon, and Apple TV combined. All of which I have. None of which my mother watches. She's far more interested in rummaging through my clothes and jewelry. Just this morning I found her strolling down the passage towards my mirror wearing a jersey of mine. 

"Hi," she smiled shyly. "I'm coming to your room for the mirror. This 'jersey'. I don't know who it is. I found it in my room. It's warm."

She proceeds to stare at her reflection and re-organise this newfound grey 'jersey'. A large 'GAP' print embossed into her chest is strikingly young for her.

So I roll my eyeballs and start. 

Er... That's my jersey. Who else do you live with?"

My mother bursts out laughing apologizes and tells me she'll keep it. No thank you proceeds from her lips. 

My heart is like sore now because I'm selfish about my things on a small level. When I shop at thrift stores I don't buy shit. I buy nice things. Since my mother's been here she's taken nearly everything kiff I've bought. And I can't say no. I figure I'll just steal it back when she leaves and like the ignorant daughter I can be, say, "What jersey?"

That's if she remembers it.