The Friday shuffle.

Twenty two and a half and tired.
I had to write my own blurb for the magazine this morning, and that's not what I wrote, obviously. But I thought about it.

Katherine Barry is twenty two and a half (as of yesterday - a fact that I didn't remember myself but that my mother did. Thanks for the email, Mom!) and absolutely exhausted.
The last few days have been the sort of days where productivity finds itself moving in a negative direction. Instead of getting anything done, I think I'm digging my heels in and moving backwards. Slowly.

I've been burying myself in the wine story, reading about GDPs and export statistics, salaries, fetal alcohol syndrome numbers, black economic empowerment initiatives, and quite frankly, I'm exhausted. Tying them all together into a cohesive story is going to be something that I don't want to do, and yet I must.

It's proof that I'm the shadow of my former self. Katie Barry can write anything, I thought. I can sit down and the words come. I can type a five page paper (citations and quotes included) in just over an hour. I'm that good.
But yesterday, I stared at the computer screen and there was nothing. The clicker blinked on the blank word document. I blinked too, not as rhythmic, obviously.
I could see what I wanted to describe in my mind. I could see the picturesque afternoon scenery. I could smell the wine. But my fingers remained linguistically stagnant, tapping idly on the table.
Today, things were a little better. I'm a paragraph in. But it's all stats. Easy stuff. Squish some stats in and then throw on the adjectives and you've got yourself a story.
But I want it to be compelling. I want it to be unique, approachable, memorable.

So that when I complain to Projects Abroad about the shit situation they've got going on in South Africa, I will actually have something to lean back on. Because currently, two months and one article is looking weak.
And it is.
But I've been doing a hell of a lot of blogging and blog reading, which is moderate journalism in its own right.

That's a lie but let's not worry about any of that for now.

Let's look forward.
Wednesday night I ate a bad falafel. Yesterday I did my laundry in a three foot square shower. Today I'm wearing running shorts and shoes, but a normal cardigan. I've obviously not learned the valuable lessons from my oft-repeated mistake of neglecting to wear socks while wearing running shoes. My hair is disheveled and my makeup never made it onto my face.
It's that point in the trip, when everything has gone to hell and all I want to do is crawl into bed and sleep.
I'm currently alternating between New York Times blogs and some slide show about dating with depression, neither of which I have problems with (the dating or the depression, but I guess I don't really have problems with NYT blogs either). This is my life. Hello, 11am on a Friday.
I am officially Bridget Jones. South African Bridget Jones.

There's no time for that, though.
There's no time for sleep when the days stand at eleven. The countdown has begun. It's official.

I'm ready.
I'm ready for the twenty four hours of airplane and transit hell that is the trip from Cape Town to Joburg to DC to Denver. I'm ready to be strip searched by TSA officials looking for contraband. Actually, that's a lie, too. Is anyone ever really ready to be strip searched?
I'm ready for bad airplane food, bad sleeping, turbulence while I'm in the restroom (every time, I swear). I'm ready to pack incorrectly, as always, and then not have what I need when I need it.
I'm ready for the inevitable breakdown when I realize that I've loved this experience so much.
I'm also ready the breakdown that will occur when I check the bank account.
I want to snuggle my fat cat and drive my car.
I want to eat things that don't involve the word curry or fried.


I dont want to leave, though. I'm finally getting some color into my skin. I'm finally settled into my routine. I love the beach and the ocean. I love the city and the trains. I love how loud it is here, I love how laid back the attitudes are.
I love everything.
I love the chaos. It fits me perfectly.

BUT-

The other night, Mike lost his wallet. Some time after, as I was leaving Green Point Stadium, the police stopped a man who was trying to get his hand into my bag. They slapped him as he protested, and told him to Shut up! And then they kept slapping him.
I was overwhelmed.

The amount of recent violence here has been incredible. Not in a good way. It's starting to wear on me. The racism, the poverty, the crime - it's too much.

So maybe a healthy dose of home might be a welcome change.