What happens when life takes over? You forget that you used to love tap, tap, tapping on the keyboard and enrich the world with one smart, witty word. Perhaps you used to write a sentence that changed a mood or made a difference to someone’s day.
Now I just sound like an answering machine.
Hello my name is Jemma, please remind me why I stopped writing and why I wish to carry on?
Beeeeeeeep.
Ok, ok maybe I should take this a bit (more) seriously.
Today is not just any Monday or any 1st day of the month, it's a day that should've started like this: Sitting in traffic en route to my new office in Johannesburg. But instead, it behaved much like my iPhone’s predictive text – un-predicatively humorous. (And not in a funny HA HA way. More like FacePalm Friday at 4.59pm in crisis mode. Laugh because it's almost impossible to cry, way.)
I am still infirmly stuck in Durban waiting for the next really, real moving date.
Jozi, Jolsburg - J to the H B. My mind has moved into my new flat, into this new beginning and into a sense of excitement of discovering a new city network. It’s boxed up a small Durban mentality and unwrapped a fresher way of thought. Yet, it just seems unable to exercise it.
”Be here, be present”, my mum would say.
Durban you old piece of takkie – care to let me go now, pal?
Today marks the beginning of my 365 days of writing. A preparation for book/s, a sanity check, as well as keeping family and friends in the loop of this new life.
Three Hundred and Sixty Five days of new words.
Three Hundred and Sixty Five days of a new adventure.
Three Hundred and Sixty Five days of being a permanent staff member.
Yikes.
I am just going to expand on this for a second with a,
"They may take our lives, but they'll never take out freedom!",
Mel Gibson moment.
Jeez Louise covered in cheese.
I have become so accustomed to floating in and out of coffee shops, laptop in tow, dabbling in the world of Social Media. Living a life rich with selfishness and owned happiness that I have forgotten what it’s like to be caged into a four-walled box.
Did Mel Gibson die in that movie? I don’t remember.
Maybe I'll just start again tomorrow.
Now I just sound like an answering machine.
Hello my name is Jemma, please remind me why I stopped writing and why I wish to carry on?
Beeeeeeeep.
Ok, ok maybe I should take this a bit (more) seriously.
Today is not just any Monday or any 1st day of the month, it's a day that should've started like this: Sitting in traffic en route to my new office in Johannesburg. But instead, it behaved much like my iPhone’s predictive text – un-predicatively humorous. (And not in a funny HA HA way. More like FacePalm Friday at 4.59pm in crisis mode. Laugh because it's almost impossible to cry, way.)
I am still infirmly stuck in Durban waiting for the next really, real moving date.
Jozi, Jolsburg - J to the H B. My mind has moved into my new flat, into this new beginning and into a sense of excitement of discovering a new city network. It’s boxed up a small Durban mentality and unwrapped a fresher way of thought. Yet, it just seems unable to exercise it.
”Be here, be present”, my mum would say.
Durban you old piece of takkie – care to let me go now, pal?
Today marks the beginning of my 365 days of writing. A preparation for book/s, a sanity check, as well as keeping family and friends in the loop of this new life.
Three Hundred and Sixty Five days of new words.
Three Hundred and Sixty Five days of a new adventure.
Three Hundred and Sixty Five days of being a permanent staff member.
Yikes.
I am just going to expand on this for a second with a,
"They may take our lives, but they'll never take out freedom!",
Mel Gibson moment.
Jeez Louise covered in cheese.
I have become so accustomed to floating in and out of coffee shops, laptop in tow, dabbling in the world of Social Media. Living a life rich with selfishness and owned happiness that I have forgotten what it’s like to be caged into a four-walled box.
Did Mel Gibson die in that movie? I don’t remember.
Maybe I'll just start again tomorrow.
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