Double Dosage of Depression Pt. 1

On the side of anger and happiness-dampening events over the weekend, in contrast with the Triple Threat of Happiness on Saturday, were two food-related incidents and a run in with an awful film. (Yes, I can count, and there are three events in actuality. But I have divided them according to the reason. The first two relate to food the other to film. So it is a division based on the genre of the events, not how many events there were.)

On Friday I ordered a vegetarian pizza from Debonairs and when it eventually arrived I discovered it had chicken on it. Thirty minutes later, almost 21h00 now, I get the right pizza delivered. I have never experienced any problems with Debonairs, this is the first. And being a vegetarian I can't just say "Oh hell" and eat the mistake anyway.

The other incident with food was Saturday night after Emily's birthday mini-party. For supper my gran had bought me a vegetarian cannelloni from Woolworths. I remove it from the packaging, puncture the film several times, and place it in the centre of the microwave on a microwaveable plate. Two minutes later, or however long it takes, I take it out, strip the film away, smell the delicious food, and think "Hmm good".

I settle in to eat it, cutting off a generous first bite. While chewing I wonder about what exactly they've put in the cannelloni. The packaging said the main ingredient was spinach. I swallow and am not quite convinved. I look down, and through the fantastic white sauce and layers of pasta I see mince meat. Brown, dead, animal flesh. A quick inspection of packaging of the actual meal, not the removable cardboard outer packaging that gets slipped over the meal, and I discover it is not a vegetarian cannelloni, but a beef cannelloni.

Now I'm flipping out. Not serial killer, screaming at the top of my voice, flipped out. But internal seething flipped out. Being as it's late, and the weekend, the customer service line is down, so I send an email explaining a bunch of stuff and what I expect of the company in compensation for my ordeal. (And yes I understand it seems overthetop, and I was definitely pushing the overthetop angle, because I really wanted whoever read that email to, hopefully, understand how upset I was.)

Luckily there were leftovers of a spinach quiche to eat.

To be continued....

Triple Threat of Happiness

Presented today were three reasons for happiness.

The first reason presented itself when I woke up, eventually, and found two packages next to my bed. Two weeks ago I ordered several action figures off eBay, and my optimism regarding such things always suggests a fortnight wait before I should start expecting anything.

Despite people shipping from across the globe to Africa.

My optimism was rewarded. I hastily opened the packages and discovered Captain America, from the Marvel Universe line, and Duke, from the G.I. Joe: Resolute line (both produced by Hasbro, of course).

They are both excellent figures. Articulation is bounteous and varied on both figures. Duke comes with an assault rifle, a pistol, and a knife, but can't holster the pistol. He can't holster it because there is already a gun molded into the leg holster. This is disappointing, considering most of the figures in the recent G.I. Joe lines had open functioning holsters.

Captain America is packaged with his shield, and really, he needs no other accessories. He is the ultimate soldier and his weapon is his body, mind, and his unwavering patriotic spirit. Captain America is all kinds of awesome.

Second reason was the mini-party for my six-year-old sister's recent birthday. It was just myself, our mother, Emily's father, my aunt Jenny and her two kids, and our grandmother. I was not involved in the day at all, except to sing "Happy Birthday" to Emily and converse, but what made me happy was Emily interacting with my cousins.

They are several years older than her, but have known her almost since she was born. When my mother worked and we lived in Joostenbergvlakte she would leave Emily with Jenny and pick her up after work. So she spent a lot of time with my cousins.

Emily doesn't go to preschool, kindergarten for American readers, and has no one to play with on a regular basis. Instead her only playmates are the TV and her toys. She seems to cope alright with the solitude, but it still concerns me that she isn't around other children enough. She starts primary school next year, so I suppose she should enjoy the quiet time while it lasts.

The third and final happiness-inducing reason on Saturday was the phone call I got from Exclusive Books. After my interview with them on Thursday last week they liked me and wanted me to work for them. I was elated. The prospect of working in a book store is so exciting. Surrounded by books for several hours a day several days a week is a great prospect.

Getting paid is a great prospect too. Except it hardly crossed my mind to even ask how much the pay is. I am happy I am working. 'Nuff said.

Six Years Ago

A couple hours from now, actually this evening, and six years ago my family lived in Joostenbergvlakte in a double-storey house with a green roof. My mom was pregnant. Sometime in the evening my mom said her water broke and we got our stuff together and drove to Kenilworth. Which is, for those who know Cape Town, forever away from Joostenbergvlakte; it is a forty minute drive minimum.

It was several hours later, late into the night, like 03h00/04h00, when my mom finally gave birth to Emily. A shorter birth would've meant we were both born on the 23rd of a month, but as it is we share one quirky stat: being born twenty years apart. I'll always remember how old she is on her birthday.

I got very bored that night. I suppose I could've stayed at home. I didn't want to miss out on the momentous occasion, although I preferred not to be in the room when it actually happened. It wasn't really an option, but I was glad I wasn't there. Not something you want to say you shared with your mother.

While we waited Bubble Boy, starring Jake Gyllenhaal, was on TV. It is an awful film, made even worse because it was broadcast on e-tv (not to be confused with E! Entertainment), a local television station that has frequent advert breaks at completely inappropriate moments in films. Breaks occur even in the middle of a conversation or a single sentence of dialogue. It is that bad.
Being bored wasn't so terrible. I like being awake outside the home late at night. Everything is so different. There is hardly anyone around, I love that. Being alone seems so natural in the artificial lighting and ever-present darkness outside. The noises of the night are more tolerable than the sounds of a city in sunlight. So just being in the hospital through the night was an adventure in itself. I might've also taken books with to read, can't remember what. But I was quite into Haruki Murakami, as I still am, and his books fit the late night atmosphere perfectly, I think.

My sister is six on Wednesday. Incredible to think there was a time in my life without her.

Had One of These, Once

In another life, or more like a couple years ago, I had this exact blog title, but my neglect must've killed the original, because here I am: starting it up all over again. Not really a bad thing. I think the other one was quite sporadic and unfocused (not that I don't think this one will be same), so this is a new start.

The past six months have been fairly tough, bashing my way quite sedately through time and space, with emotion just barely scratching the surface. Strange where emotional affectations come from sometimes. Surprising origins, and very surprising non-origins. Things that should bring up some sort of emotional response went unnoticed and passed by without any comment or reaction.

Now there are reactions to the actions/inactions of the past six months, and I am of the opinion that it is not too late to turn things around. Stuff needs to pile up a bit before I notice something is amiss. This is one of those periods, the counterpoint to the previous era. Well-laid plans are needed. I think with a little concentration things are achievable.