I have an avocado tree. It hangs over into the street. Two lovely children came today wanting avocados. They had tried stones and sticks, but couldn’t make them fall, and because they could not reach them, they rang my bell and asked for help in taking them. They must have been nine and five years old. I admired their assumption that they had a right to them. Well, I won’t be eating them, and there are many. I suggested that they’re not quite ripe yet, but they said that they would keep them in a dark place for a while and they will soon be ripe. I didn’t know that. Luckily it’s the gardener’s day, so I asked the gardener to assist them. They took a big bag full. I have also kept some and put them in a dark place. We shall see.
My prayer is that the sage ones on high will save me from those people who cannot talk to me without touching me. You know – The Touchers. It’s a dreadful assailment. People who do this, I call Space Invaders. They make me crazy.
Every time they make a point about something they have to touch you. Sometimes they hold onto your arm and you have to prize it back from them. It’s ok if it’s a short conversation, but touch me more than twice and I consider it the beginning of an absolute barrage. I must steel myself for the unavoidable molestation that is bound to come.
That’s exactly what it is, because the touching doesn’t stop there. There will be more. It’s as though only by adjoining their body to yours are they able to communicate their point. As though real understanding is transmitted not by the assimilation of sensory output-input but through the laying on of hands! They repeatedly plug in by latching onto your person, and they will not stop.
Ok, so clearly I’m not a big wanton toucher. I mean, yes, but no. Naturally, I like to touch and be touched by a lover, wantonly. But that’s different. I am not adverse to the casual touch of a friend. Although if a friend behaved in that wonton touchy way, I would enquire as to what is up?
I had lunch with this woman. She was a toucher. She reached across the lunch table to touch. I know from past experience to sit opposite her, not next to her. I thought I was creating safe distance, but there was no escape. She reached across the table to touch me. I moved my hands onto my lap. She kept reaching. She levered herself out of her chair to reach across the table and touch me. That’s a bit scary, isn’t it? I pushed my chair back. She then extended her hand by putting a utensil into it and reached with that. With utensil in hand, her reach extended across the table and over the edge of my side of the table. Where do you run to? I took the utensil out of her hand, eventually. I kept thinking ‘she’ll do me an injury with that thing’.
When you mention it to them, they are not surprised. She wasn’t surprised. She said ‘yes, I’m like that’. She didn’t even hear that I was expressing my discomfort. You have to be blunt.
I had to tell this woman to stop touching me. It was driving me mad. I really tried to be kind in saying it, but, of course, she got offended and then made a big drama and performance about not touching me. She would go to touch me and then, pull back her hand and say ‘oh no, I mustn’t touch you’. When she’d done that about ten times, I seriously considered whether I could stab her several times with my steak knife, make it to my car, get to the airport and onto a plane to somewhere with no extradition without being apprehended.
It’s actually passive aggressive. Well, it definitely feels aggressive, and it is done in a passive, friendly manner, and it is definitely not affection. I don’t know what it is. Space Invaders!!
I had an urge to go jogging this evening. It’s an extremely unusual urge for me, so I gave in to it. Now, when I say jogging, I’m not that fit, yet, so jogging means jog half a block and walk for two blocks, but it’s jogging Tselane style. Ipod music helps keep up the pace while walking. One day, perhaps I’ll jog the whole distance. But, today is not that day.
When I got home from my jog I didn’t have my keys. I had put them in the pocket of my tack suit pants with my phone. A hole must have developed in my pocket, and the keys fell out. The idea of retracing my steps was more than my body or soul could fathom. I had a momentary panic, then I called the security company. Those guys are fantastic. They drove around, retraced my steps for me and found the keys. Hallelulya! I love the security company. It’s not their job, really, or their problem, but thank God for them. I almost didn’t take the phone. Thank God that I did. Next time I’ll put the keys around my neck and tuck them into my bra. I remember there used to be those bum pouches. What ever happened to those? I could use one.
Everything below the waste tingles right now. My legs tingle. My calves are tiiiiingling. My feet tingle. I’m all-a-tingle!