So.....I've been in the clinic twice...the first time was Spring day of 2010.
I remember this clearly because the lady who helped me fill in my forms (I had some trouble writing while crying hysterically) had cake.
I was very afraid that day, not knowing what was going to happen to me and when, how, why.
But festivities started promptly when they ushered me into a small room and gave me a large injection in the ass cheek.
The nurse also wasn't exactly a kind, gentle spirit either.
She was a massive surly sister who I swear wiggled that needle in my poor butt just to punish me for being an out of control...uh...hmmm… thing.
Anyway, after having a series of unpleasant tasks I was free to do nothing with the other kids.
The other kids were patients there too but it rather felt a little bit like high school again. As I walked out I saw little groups of people huddled together, smoking, playing poker or wedgies-time or Let’s Jump the Fence!
I lit a cigarette as I came out and to my left a bunch of guys were lounging against the wall, in the sun, except for one who was sitting on the pavement.
He puffed out a circle of smoke as I passed them, his eyes never leaving me.
As I looked back he smiled at me with the most mischievous face I have ever seen TO THIS DAY!
I just stood there kind of like a smoking retard, trying to look cool and happy about being alone and new.
To make matters worse I had launched into a mad scuffle the previous night to try and appreciate all the luxury items that would not be *erm* served at the clinic, for old time's sake.
As a result I didn't sleep much and walked into the place trying to vomit and cry at the same time. But I'm grateful for the fact that I didn't need to drag myself in with one arm, crying and vomiting as I went.
Like a MANDOWN!!!
So what I am getting at is:
I looked like shit.
I felt like shit.
I.
Was.
Shit.
But the sitting-boy seemed okay with that because he yelled for me to come over there. Ah geeze high school flashback again...only usually people yelled for me to go away from over there, back then...sooooo great success after school then, yay!
He introduced me to all his chums and then gave me a tour of the smoking area.
(here's our patch of grass, there's the table, don't sit on that chair it's broken)
Should I give him a fake name to protect him from the public eye?
Granted the public eye gives a crap about my blog?
Yeah okay.
His name turned out to be Schmauritz Schmeepers and he was 20. I was 26 and married so when we became inseparable best friends in that time, none of that boy/girl stuff interfered.
But later I found out he was actually 18...weird.
Clinic finished up and we all went home to our loving and understanding families.
In the following two years things turned topsy turvy and I suddenly found myself to be a divorcee (why OH WHY must I claim my marital status on the dentist's/doctor's/beautician forms? Do they laugh at us when we leave with our lopsided anaesthetized faces/sore vitaminB12 ass cheeks/perfect eyebrows and bikini lines?
So these days I tick "single". For a while I wrote "life partner" but I noticed lesbians being very kind to me and saying things like "my wife and I are having a braai, would the two of you like to join?"
Maybe I should just get married again, that will solve this conundrum...plus the ring!!!
Okay, backup a little. So my life had taken a cowboy turn for the worst and my feelings felt bad.
Standing in the High Court arguing with a moody judge about how long I've been married:
"So are you telling me you've been married for 3 months?"
"Nah bitch I said 2 years, HELLO! Uhhh I mean Your Majesty …*bow*"
So two days after being in the High Court I went to a whole other clinic. One where they give you delicious tranquilizers, confiscate your blunt-nosed scissors and take your blood pressure while you're conked out.
Unlike the other clinic, they let you keep your phone, I guess they decided if anyone gets creative enough to kill themselves with their cell phone, they must have reeeaaalllyy wanted it.
So I slept and read books and ate when they rang their little crystal bell and smoked and talked shit with the others and took meds then snuck out into the garden to go laugh and push the others into bushes and slept and slept and slept...sometimes in a bush (I got pushed back)
But I NEVER weaved a basket if any of you were wondering.
I did however chase chickens in the rain once with a crazy lady...they were scared.
And even Crazy Lady said this must be the pinnacle of insanity.
Then she went for shock therapy, ouch.
I also took time out of my busy schedule to facebook where, after 2 years, Schmauritz had seen I've divorced,
This was the beginning of a brief...but torrid...affair.
Now before you judge me...he made a very persuasive argument. He said age doesn't matter when it comes to love. He got older people to confirm this concept. He said I'm beautiful...oh flattery thy name is Satan!
I still had 17 days left in the clinic but we were building a wonderful relationship over the phone.
That is after I told him to shove off, I ain't no pedophile! And also read up about cougars and the criteria of being one.
He was by then 20 (I checked) and I was 27…and 13 months.
At first I felt embarrassed but then I got smitten.
I was sitting in a (let's face it) psych ward, beaming from head to toe. New people would ask what the hell I'm doing there and I'd say:
"Depression of course *grin grin grin*"
When I got out I immediately started making arrangements to see him but it would be another week before I go on my country trip which includes Witbank where he...resided...at the time...don't you judge me!
So I kept myself busy that Friday by going to a club where my friend's friend with benefits’ band was performing.
There I ran into Someone. Now there's something you should know about Someone.
Every freakin’ party I've been to where I've had a little bit too much to drink and feeling awfully lonely and there were no bigger fish to fry, I would allow him to hold my hand a little. And kiss me. Nothing else!
For the past 10 years.
Unfortunately this must have come across as something it wasn't because poor Someone fell deeply in love and every time I saw him and the hand-holding commenced, he would get that scary look that people get when you don't really want them and they really want you.
So as I was allowing him to caress my arm, Schmauritz phoned:
Schmauritz: "I'm on my way to Pretoria with some friends!"
Me: "EEEEEEEEEEEH!"
Schmauritz: "Come to Drop Zone" (don't you judge me)
Me: "I'm on my w_"
Battery went flat...I love my iphone but I don't always like it.
So once again I was gone before Someone could even put his arm down.
Sorry Someone.
I got to Drop Zone... I was sober and scared...will write next horror novel: "Alone and Sober on Hatfield Square"...will get $400 000 for it...like Mr King with Carrie.
My phone was completely flat and there were hundreds of people...young (oh so young) people.
At some point I sorta gave up and decided to use the restroom then leave.
BUT as I came out of the restroom (ew) and started weaving through the (very young) crowd, dodging cigarettes, I ran straight into him.
It's been two years.
He was thinner; he had cut his hair and had a great tan.
He looked about 12.
But he smiled at me with delight in his eyes and I felt like a miracle had occurred...in Drop Zone of all places.
You know friends of mine met in Drop zone? Because someone touched her derrière and she kakked out the wrong guy and now they are married and smoochingly happy, smiling on Facebook with their gorgeous little boy.
He's 2...that's definitely too young for me.
Anyhow, Schmauritz smiled, said hi then kissed me. So that was out of the way, thank God for that.
I had not been as "verlief" since The One when I was 19!
But the fact that I was 8 years older than him and considering where we met, people weren't exactly thrilled.
I mean MY family was just glad they could trust me with blunt-nosed scissors again but HIS family saw me as an older, blonder more divorced girl than the one he dumped for me. She was 18, brunette and non-divorced.
I mean how do you compete with that?!
One night as we were trying to sneak into his granny flat (on parent's property) at 02:00 in the morning (that's when "clubs" close in Witbank on Saturdays, pfffft) we got busted...oh geeze I've never been grilled like that in my life!
What's wrong with you?!
Why can't you just leave “The Child” alone?!
Have you had sex?! (yarg!)
What if you get pregnant?
Can't you go to church and find someone your own age?! (tried that, they all loco)
When my friends from Middleburg phoned to find out whether I'm coming there or not I told them I was fighting for my life.
So they called an ambulance!
People really need to take things "in context".
So after making his parents feel more sorry for me than angry at me I left for Middelburg in the rain at 04:00 in the morning.
This was kind of the main theme in our 2 months together. We were like Romeo and Juliette. If both of them were drug addicts and Juliette was an older, scrambled, plastic blonde and Romeo had a heart broken high school girl scout on the side.
So on my birthday he disappeared, never to be heard from again.
Not by me, anyway.
I suppose it is better this way. I felt old next to him. For guys it's cool to get an older woman with giant cans but for women it's humiliating to be seen kissing a kid with a cap on his head.
Plus it cost me a fortune in eye-cream and rejuvenating face stuff.
Oh and did I mention he was a miner?
