I woke up one morning and I did not recognise the person lying in my bed; this was not me. She was rounder around the edges and she even had the dreaded ‘c’ thing on her thighs. I definitely did not know this woman. Eeeooohhhh! Her skin needed ‘Operation Revamp’ just to get out of the house. I won’t even mention the lack of hydration on her skin as that would need a dissertation.
This woman must have lent some of her esteem to some teen, because the phrase ‘I can’ no longer came as easily. I know something for sure; I would not ask her to go into a battle as she may faint on sight or worse yet, she may ask me to pause and determine the desired outcome and whether I would get it in this manner.
Who was this woman who stayed in almost every day of the week? Who was this woman who had not met the targets I had set for us 10 years ago? I do admit that the plans were not quite well thought out but they had substance, I think!
This woman lying in my bed, the pretender, was slower on the up-take; she needed to think things through before she made a decision. She said things like: “do not put all your eggs in one basket…”. Who is this woman?
I had never thought of myself as ignorant, but I realized that I was, totally blank about getting rid of the ‘c’ thing. Who ever thought that I would need that little titbit. I mean, really!! I have been busy with many other things, how was I to know that ‘cellulite’ was not a meaningless swearword but a real affliction that happened to people.
As these thoughts were racing in my little sweet head, I decided to get out of bed and do the morning rituals that ensured I left the house. These are; brush my teeth, have a look at myself in the oversized mirror that resides there, take a pee and wash my hands, make some coffee and drink it with a fag while trying to find something mildly interesting or necessary on the telly.
Lo! and behold who should come with; the stranger in my bed! Worse still she insisted on being under my skin. To cut a long tale short, one look in the mirror and I fainted and am yet to recover and return to my body. As I write this I am in limbo and I do not know if I will ever see me again. The ‘stranger’ told me that there were conditions to my return. I had to accept that we had evolved into another phase of our journey and I needed to figure out whether I wanted stay away or will be part of the ‘glorious’ future with her. What is so ‘glorious’ about looking middle age in the face and being truly acquainted with the dreaded orange peel, I ask you?
I am trying so hard not to dwell on the past (that is what I have been reduced to, life can be sad) but I am going to miss ‘me’ and I know nothing about the stranger.
I have been observing the stranger while contemplating my place in the future. She is graceful without trying too hard, she is assured and mysterious. She couldn’t give a toss what anyone thinks and get this, she has a plan – a life plan – under her arm and she will be damned if she will be found wanting as I did when we met.
She had to punch me to get anything out of me, she winded me when she got to the ‘why’ stage and for the record that is when I gave her that ‘blue’ eye. She gave me this look of pity and proceeded to take a shower, dress, expertly cover the bruise and make her way to work. You have to love this chick; I have to get a peek at the ‘life plan’.
Goodbye stranger, welcome me.
mtb, jhb
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