A whisp of despair.

Dear Universe,

I could win a competition for feeling sorry for myself today. I’m feeling it deeply, the treachery my poor lonesome bottom has to endure.

Before I went overseas I had money, I stayed in a beautiful flat and dated my very own Mr Mcdreamy with whom I shared two cats. I was bored out of my mind though. Consequently I gave it all up and headed to America.  Now that I’m back it seems very little has changed in my life. In fact, post-America might be even bleaker than pre-America.  The man has gone. Oh, and I don’t have any money. Whether or not all the bills will be paid this month is debatable.

I’m back to spending all my time at home, which is where I work from. I chose to live outside of the city, so I’m at least 30minutes away from friends. I rarely see people. The cabin fever’s got me bad. My jogs are turning into walks and I have to forcefully throw myself out the door in the mornings. My cats follow my every move and although I sometimes find it endearing (they’re my only company) most of the time their neediness drives me batty.

I’ve been single for a year now. In the interim I haven’t had a single interaction with a man that even vaguely excited me, or looked excited about me. As I sink deeper and deeper into my Sangoma work the same old issues start to surface. Am I alone because I’m a Sangoma??? Sometimes I think yes. I’m a chicken killer. I’m possessed. It’s not easy for other people to accept what I do and so I fight with myself; about who I am, what I am, what I want and can have.

Over dinner the other night a friend looked at my astrological chart, just for a laugh. “You’re going to be single for at least another year,” she said. “Next March looks promising on the love front.” Then she laughed. I didn’t.

Can I do this for another year? Live like a monk, in solitude, removed, poor, bored and fantasizing about a trip I once took and the freedom I felt? The problem with such a trip is: nothing is ever the same. As when I was hijacked, I am now privy to knowledge very few people have. I have travelled. I know the freedom that comes with it, the freshness and continuous stimulation. I know what if feels like to be really alive, and so my life here is even bleaker than it was before I left.

A friend of mine is travelling Scotland. He sent me a note yesterday:

Dear Alice, we saw such an amazing theatre piece the other day. It was performed by people with a range of disabilities and was completely mind blowing. How lucky we are to have arms and legs doll! We are truly, truly blessed.

Universe, save me from myself. My head will be the end of me. Feeling sorry for yourself isn’t sexy at the best of times. Heck, I spent last night watching “Into the Wild” again and cried my eyes out into my bowl of spaghetti. Should I pull a Christopher Mccandless Universe? Should I give it all up and hit the road??? If I lived in the US that might have been an option, but in South Africa… The ending might not be quite as romantic.

I know there’s more to life than this Universe. I’ve seen it. I was there. Help!