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Survival

This can’t continue. The time has come. It’s now your civil duty to no longer be nice to me. It is the least you can do, after all. Don’t be thoughtful, or ask me how I’m holding up. Because I manage to hold it together, right up until that moment when you ask. You destroy my resolve not to let you destroy my resolve.

So, stop looking at me with those eyes of yours – those eyes that seem to make promises that your heart can’t keep. Don’t wink at me. If you do, I’ll tell myself there’s an eyelash or a speck of dirt that made you do it. That way, you won’t be able to get me to wonder just what that wink might mean.

If you need to speak to me, it’d be most kind of you to not actually do so. Send a text, or an e-mail, hell – why don’t you send me a smoke signal? The more distant the form of communication, the more I’m for it! Ever wondered how pigeon messaging works? Figure it out, we’ll give it a bash. So long as I don’t have to hear your voice, it’ll be good. And if you could not refer to me with any term of endearment, that’d be good, too.

No more hugs. My body is officially a hug-free zone, all for you. I love hugging. But you’ve taken a hug, the simplest means of affection, and made it bloody torture! So, no. You and I are no longer on hugging terms. From now on, if you see me, you can blink in my general direction. Then leave. I know you hope that we’ll be back to how we were before all this happened one day, the closest of friends, but I’m afraid the most I can let you hope for is the ability to one day be able to shake my hand, for an instant, and that’ll only be many years from now. Maybe.

Bit rude of you to have given me so much ‘stuff’ whilst we were together. I know not all of it was technically given to me, but I mean, who doesn’t save the movie ticket stub from our first film together, or the receipt you wrote how much you loved me on, before leaving it on the bonnet of my car? Well, I do. I did. And now all of this ‘stuff’ is suffocating me. So, if you can remove me so easily from your heart, it’d seem fully within your capabilities for you to remove all of this ‘stuff’ from my immediate existence! It’s really not a lot to ask. Oh and if you could take all of the memories and feelings I still have with you, I’d greatly appreciate it.

You’re now an ex. My ex. And that means ex-everything. No more inside stories, special secrets, or jokes that only we get. I don’t want you to look at me knowingly when my favourite song comes on. Don’t even try to let me down easily. I know we had good times, and I know you think I’ll be the one, for someone that isn’t you. Really, if you’d dissolve into thin air, that would actually be the best you could do for me as my ex. I know you would like us to be friends, one day, but I’m afraid the most you really can hope for is that I won’t run in the opposite direction when we’re walking on opposite sides of the road from one another. And not anytime soon. Maybe one day. Maybe.

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Being a young and single woman in the world is quickly becoming a dangerous pastime. Not only are our numbers dwindling (more because of marriage than bear traps and poison), but the world is somehow leading us all to believe that if we’re single, there’s something very wrong with us. Well, I for one, know that there’s nothing wrong with me – nothing completely unbearable, at least. I mean, I know I am rather childish, and hyper active, and would rather go out all night partying than sit at home and cuddle. And I know I like to have my shoes touching their partners and cupboards closed before I fall asleep at night, and yes, the rubbing of my feet in bed irritates some, but really it’s because I’m comfortable!! Anyway, that’s all besides the point. For now, I shall focus on My Survival Plan.

This week I’ve been left to house sit whilst my folks are away, and let me tell you, it can be a daunting task for a young lady with no knight in shining armour to call on. But I have been thinking, and there are things I can do to up my survival chances. Firstly, I’ll go to bed really late every night. I mean super late. Like, no point going to bed because it’s so late late. This way, any ‘bad guys’ seeking to pounce on my unsuspectingly whilst I sleep, will be left waiting. Think of it as survival of the sleepiest, and thanks to my years of training as a party animal/Honours graduate/insomniac, those baddies will have quite the match on their hands!

Scary movies shall be my staple for the week. I reckon if I watch enough, I’ll a) be immune to fear, and b) know every single possible eventuality. I’ve already begun my training in this area and have gleamed a decidedly brilliant survival plan should my house ever be under attack from aliens/zombies/pre-pubescent possessed kids/all of the above. My grand plan? To sit in the corner of a room, with all of its lights on, with a very large knife. Sheer brilliance, I hear you say. I know. Thank you. If you think of it, you’ll only ever have to focus on what’s coming towards you, begin covered on 66% of the scope by the two walls between which you’ve wedged yourself. Were I to end up in my very own real life horror film, it shall be short lived and severely lacking in action. But I’ll end up alive, dammit!

One side effect to having watched so very many horror films, is that when it does come time (usually somewhere around 4 in the morning) to retire to my bedroom, the journey from the TV room to mine at the opposite side of the house and up a staircase consisting of exactly 21 stairs, well… It can be daunting. Especially in the dark. Making my way passed the doorways to other rooms, and up stairs to which there’s very little protection from the grabbing, evil hands of bad guys, my heart beat does tend to quicken. The solution to this, however, is simple – although Eskom may not be so impressed with me by the end of the week. Simply put, I shall put every single light in the house on. Ta-da! I know it may end up rather expensive in the end, but in the event that despite my other strategies a bad guy does come into the house, I’ll spot him long before he spots me, AND when I call the police from my parents bedroom (in the corner), I can direct them to “the house with all the lights on.”

Really, I can’t understand why all of this survival stuff is considered only for the “fittest.” I have it all worked out. Who needs a man? Not me. I have minimal sleep, a corner and light to protect me. And hell, if all else fails there’s always a tried and tested method that we’ve all resorted to since we were born… I’ll just grab my teddy and bury myself deep under the covers of my bed, with my eyes firmly shut. It’s a truth that’s acknowledge worldwide –  under the covers, nothing bad can get me.