and...takeoff

Sunday: flying to D.C.

Tuesday: flying overnight to London

Friday: moving to Brighton

Saturday, 27 Sept: turning 22, moving into my house

The times they are a-changin'.

autumn

Last night, I dreamed that a house fire was slowly eating away at my bedroom. What to save? I stressed as the flames flicked away at my windowsill. Immediately, I dove into the back of my closet and hefted a shoebox of journals into my arms, sprinted them to a safe place, and left them to run back for more. People were all around, but no one was helping me. When I returned to the journals, a woman I didn't know had picked them up and clapped them so thousands of little tiny leaves fell out; the journals were now empty. I had no time to sweep up the leaves - the words - much less hope to get them back into the same order.

It's a clue, but to what? Guard them more carefully? Or start writing more?

Party trick

When I moved to Cape Town two years ago, I had no interest in learning Afrikaans. "The language of the oppressor," I thought. "I'll study Xhosa." Two years later, my former students still laugh at my attempts to click: "Two percent."

My relatives joke, "Wouldn't it be easier to just keep a little machine in your pocket where you can press a button whenever you need to--" and they imitate the "x" and "q" and "c" I've just been forced to share, my party trick, entirely lacking in authenticity. So funny, those Africans.