Today is one of those rare days when I feel like hell.   My head aches.  I can’t think.  I have no energy.  I just want to crawl back into bed and sleep and wake up tomorrow feeling normal again; but it isn’t going to be like that.  I am the product of British stoicism.  That means that back when I was a girl, if you could walk you walked into class.  Then, when I was an actress it meant that if anything on your body was sprained or strained and painful you washed down a couple of Myprodol with some vodka, had a cortisone jab, got on stage and danced yourself crippled.  “The show must go on”.   That’s the tradition I’m from. So sick as I feel, disorientated as my mind is, weak as my body is, I got up this morning, took a shower, dressed myself, popped a pill and tried to be useful.  I wasn’t very useful today, not even to myself – in fact I was especially useless to myself; but I managed to get a couple of emails out.  I found some art for the auction. The guy who is doing my website for the Adelaide Tambo Collection showed up with a story about what he’s done but is unable to show me because blah, blah, blah, bunch of B.S.  He’s like a kid making excuses for not having done his homework.  “Don’t waste my time”.  Especially don’t waste my time on a day when I feel like shit. It really irritates me  that I feel like shit so I’m in a bad, bad mood.  I shouldn’t actually be attempting to impose myself on other human beings.  I know this about myself.  Why am I imposing myself on the world?  I’ve been a bitch today. It’s the world’s fault.  It’s the world that said ‘if you can walk you can work’.  The world is so misguided.  Besides, I wouldn’t call what I’m doing ‘walking’.  I’m moving like an ancient person.  Everything hurts.  Everything!  Every joint, every muscle, every limb, every sinew hurts.  My blood hurts.  What doesn’t hurt?  Nothing doesn’t hurt.  Everything hurts. My bones hurt. I wish The Mrs were here.  If  Mrs was here she’d let me get into her bed and she’d have her maid bring me soup and she’d give me strong medicine.  The Mrs was my hospital.  I used to tell her that Mother’s Love is the only cure for what ails me; that’s why I got into her bed when I didn’t feel well.  If I wasn’t contagious she’d sometimes get in bed next to me and cradle me like a child, and we’d gossip.  Mother’s Love is exactly what I need now.  I miss my Mummy. It has taken six months for me not to have a website.  Who waits for six months for a website?  I must be mad.  The first guy who was designing for me was doing something out of the 70’s.  I think he was trying to go retro, but it wasn’t working.  I didn’t like it.   I fired him. So I got the second guy who said he was doing something that I was going to love, but it never materialised because, in fact, he was doing nothing.  He didn’t deliver a website.  I fired him. The third guy wanted to do everything except what he was asked to do.  He called it “adding value”.  He caused my gaskets to blow twice.  Once I can understand, but twice? I was hosting a post-auction sale early last November.  I asked the third guy to design invitations.  I gave him the wording for the invitation.  I gave him the picture on which to Adelaide_Tambo_Ceramics_Sale_Invitationput the wording.  It made a lovely invitation.  Imagine my horror, my shock, my disbelief and confusion when I turned on my facbook to find that he’d posted my invitation on facebook.  On facebook!  Who does that?  That provoked apoplectic paroxysm number one. I have 5000 fb friends.  I don’t even know them.  Imagine if they came. I screamed.  I achieved decibels. I surpassed those decibels during apoplectic paroxysm number two, which was triggered by his insistence on defending the fact that he’d put my invitation on facebook.  I was fraught otherwise I’m sure I would have simply said, calmly,   “Take it down”.  That would have been an end to it. Instead I demanded, at surpassing decibels “Are you bleep bleep insane”!  It was a moment of frantic derangement.  I’m approaching menopause.  Or perhaps I’m there.  I was momentarily deranged.  It’s the psychological equivalent of a hot flush.  It happens to menopausal women.  It’s hormones having a bimagesit of an imbalance.  They tell me there are homeopathic remedies.  I don’t think I need them.   It doesn’t happen often that this fit of frantic derangement comes upon me.  In fact it only comes upon me when the guy designing the invitation takes the invitation, which is for people invited to a private, intimate post auction sale of art, which is catered to the tune of a maximum of fifty invited guests and puts that invitation on facebook.  I’ve not had an episode since then. Neither did guy number three deliver a website.   What is wrong with everyone?  I fired him. So now I’m back with the first guy who seems to be living out an “obviously you can’t live without me” fantasy in which I can’t live without him.  That is why he feels he can show up to tell me blah, blah, B.S. stories about why he’s not done what he’s supposed to have done etcetera on a day when I  am sick as a dog and am channelling the gremlin from hell, the devil incarnate, the evil witch from wherever and the little girl inside who really wants her mummy.  However, I’ve not yet fired him.  Not yet. I’m ending this day.  The day is over.  It’s after six and I’m turning myself off.  I’ve had enough! I will emerge tomorrow like a butterfly from a cocoon, beautiful, good tempered, spiritually light, vital with health, my sense of humour restored, and a twinkle in my eye.


About Tselane Tambo

I share myself in these desultory ramblings. It’s my thoughts and memories; some anecdotes and opinions. It’s an accidental autobiography. When you’ve meandered through these pages you’ll be within reach of a little piece of me. Thank you for dropping by.
This entry was posted in Nocturnal Ramblings of a Mind Unplugged and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Indisposed

  1. Pingback: Indisposed by Tselani Tambo. Hilarious day-in the life adventure. | chief mlu writes

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