I had a sense of that today whilst on my knees cleaning floors. And then again when I dug into the largest pile of dishes the world has ever witnessed. And finally when I scraped clean the bottom of a toilet and retrieved a clump of black hair out of it, it dawned on me. Hard labor isn't really my gig.
The last time I had to do any kind of hard labor was probably in my 2nd year at varsity when my best friend and I volunteered to spend a night working at Kuzmaz, a restaurant in Rondebosch, because we hung out there all the time and the night staff were on strike. The idea of Kuzmaz having to close for a night was completely unacceptable. We washed dishes from around 12pm till 6am and had a blast for about the first 3 hours after which we slowed down substantially and started having deep philosophical conversations about hard work and what it meant. The owner didn't appreciate this much and urged us to stop talking about work and actually do some of it. We slogged on with absolutely no enthusiasm towards the end and left with deep concern about the obvious cockroach problem and the disregard all the staff seemed to have for them. It didn't stop us from still spending a large portion of our time there though.
I'm a heady kind of person. I'm kind of all about ideas and splashing them onto paper and that sort of thing. I can sell people ideas as well and even employ the odd actor to stand up and recite some of the stuff that I splashed onto paper earlier AND GET PAID FOR IT! What a wondrous thing. This morning my enthusiasm waned substantially quicker than the initail 3 hours Thain and I had in us 13 years ago. My back got sore from bending over alot and that really got me grumpy. I kept wanting to stop my accomplice who was supposed to be teaching me the ropes to say to him:
Actually I'm of no use to you here, honestly. This. Scrubbing business. Did I tell you I'm from South Africa? I grew up with a maid who cleaned up after me and a father who loved doing the dishes and did so every night. Spell it. P-r-i-n-c-e-s-s from A-f-r-i-c-a...I have moved into a new room and at least it has some perks. My roommate, Analisa from Italy, leaves tomorrow for a week to go LA, Las Vegas and then to cross the Mexican border and come back into the country (to cover her illegal ass) which means I will have the room all to myself! Something I haven't had in quite some time. Also, I have a tv in my room and as I won't have to move again for awhile I've packed out some of my clothes and there are even hangers with my things on it. All and all I can't complain. I do have a bit less time for my favorite pass time which is blogging and that isn't too great. I will have to wake up earlier to make it happen.
Exhaustion also doesn't vibrate with me. Terrible things happen when I'm not 100% conscious and able to fend for myself. A good example of this is what happened yesterday. After my first working day, a full 4 hours of cleaning house I went off to wander the streets of SF when unexpectedly I had an epileptic attack inside the gap, blacked out and only woke up a number of hours later with various bags containing the loveliest winter clothes I did ever lay eyes on. The attack was triggered by a sign that read: 2 for the price of 1 SALE. Today only. The rest is history.
Damn that blackout.
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