Publications
Partners
Also read Chapter One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight and Nine.
I may have an obsessive personality. I don’t see the point of just one cappuccino. If I eat a piece of chocolate, I eat the whole slab. A single tot of whisky always turns into a double. And if I have one orgasm, I definitely want another.
When I was younger, I was addicted to cigarettes and nik naks.
I would find myself at two am, maybe a little high, cruising the streets of Jozi, looking for an open café.
God, I loved smoking - the feeling of inhaling, wrapping the smoke around my lungs, then exhaling slowly, deliciously. One cigarette was never enough. And sharing the nik naks was never an option.
I don’t smoke anymore. And donuts are the new nik naks. Those delicious glazed ones, the ones with coloured sprinkles, the ones that load on the kilos and make you feel sick after you’ve eaten four of them.
They’re just donuts for goodness sake, but I’ve been known to have severe withdrawals if I can’t find any.
I may be the girl who once had a break-down at her local bakery, even pulled out a deadly weapon, when the shelf was empty.
These holidays I got into the TV series Breaking Bad. I watched five seasons in seven days. Fifteen hours a day.
I became obsessed with Walt White, Jesse Pinkman and Crystal Meth.
I became obsessed with my neighbours who I’m still convinced have a Crystal Meth lab, and I was so addicted to the series that I had to break into my DVD shop to get the last few discs.
Who did they think they were hey, to close shop on Christmas day?
The guy I’m dating, the one I can’t stop thinking about, is very bloody addictive. He’s not only bright and handsome, but wears the crispest whitest shirts.
I am a little consumed by those shirts. My knees go weak when I see them, the starched collar, the stiff cuffs, the buttons.
The ones that I am going to slowly unbutton , the shirt that I am going to gently pull off his strong shoulders, those fabulous fantastic I want more of them strong shoulders!
Yesterday he dared to wear a sweatshirt. Silly guy. It meant an almost end to us.
To our - 'I don’t quite know what we are, I don’t understand our relationship, I don’t get you, I wish you would talk more, I’m trying not to over-think, or obsess, but dammit I can’t get you out of my head and why haven’t you called me today’ -friendship.
Although sometimes I think I’m as obsessed with him, or his shirts, as I am with whisky.
I love Glenfiddich, but recently discovered Highland Park and instead of saying to my kids - ‘Hey darlings, let me help you with your homework’-
I find myself wondering if three pm is a good time to open the bottle. Instead of focusing on Geography, I’m thinking okay, just another hour till I can drink, twenty minutes, ten, five…
Perhaps that means I’m an alcoholic. Who cares. I shall not obsess over that.
It would be nice if we became obsessed with the things that we have to do daily. Like paying the bills, cleaning the house or doing the laundry.
I want to be that woman who says:- ‘Sorry babe, can’t go out tonight, I’m colour coding the underwear’.
Or - ‘I really shouldn’t have another orgasm, I have a lunch box to make.’
It’s not going to happen. I’m greedy. Or obsessed. But who cares.
Pass me a donut. Be quick.
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I may have an obsessive personality. I don’t see the point of just one cappuccino. If I eat a piece of chocolate, I eat the whole slab. A single tot of whisky always turns into a double. And if I have one orgasm, I definitely want another.
When I was younger, I was addicted to cigarettes and nik naks.
I would find myself at two am, maybe a little high, cruising the streets of Jozi, looking for an open café.
God, I loved smoking - the feeling of inhaling, wrapping the smoke around my lungs, then exhaling slowly, deliciously. One cigarette was never enough. And sharing the nik naks was never an option.
I don’t smoke anymore. And donuts are the new nik naks. Those delicious glazed ones, the ones with coloured sprinkles, the ones that load on the kilos and make you feel sick after you’ve eaten four of them.
They’re just donuts for goodness sake, but I’ve been known to have severe withdrawals if I can’t find any.
I may be the girl who once had a break-down at her local bakery, even pulled out a deadly weapon, when the shelf was empty.
These holidays I got into the TV series Breaking Bad. I watched five seasons in seven days. Fifteen hours a day.
I became obsessed with Walt White, Jesse Pinkman and Crystal Meth.
I became obsessed with my neighbours who I’m still convinced have a Crystal Meth lab, and I was so addicted to the series that I had to break into my DVD shop to get the last few discs.
Who did they think they were hey, to close shop on Christmas day?
The guy I’m dating, the one I can’t stop thinking about, is very bloody addictive. He’s not only bright and handsome, but wears the crispest whitest shirts.
I am a little consumed by those shirts. My knees go weak when I see them, the starched collar, the stiff cuffs, the buttons.
The ones that I am going to slowly unbutton , the shirt that I am going to gently pull off his strong shoulders, those fabulous fantastic I want more of them strong shoulders!
Yesterday he dared to wear a sweatshirt. Silly guy. It meant an almost end to us.
To our - 'I don’t quite know what we are, I don’t understand our relationship, I don’t get you, I wish you would talk more, I’m trying not to over-think, or obsess, but dammit I can’t get you out of my head and why haven’t you called me today’ -friendship.
Although sometimes I think I’m as obsessed with him, or his shirts, as I am with whisky.
I love Glenfiddich, but recently discovered Highland Park and instead of saying to my kids - ‘Hey darlings, let me help you with your homework’-
I find myself wondering if three pm is a good time to open the bottle. Instead of focusing on Geography, I’m thinking okay, just another hour till I can drink, twenty minutes, ten, five…
Perhaps that means I’m an alcoholic. Who cares. I shall not obsess over that.
It would be nice if we became obsessed with the things that we have to do daily. Like paying the bills, cleaning the house or doing the laundry.
I want to be that woman who says:- ‘Sorry babe, can’t go out tonight, I’m colour coding the underwear’.
Or - ‘I really shouldn’t have another orgasm, I have a lunch box to make.’
It’s not going to happen. I’m greedy. Or obsessed. But who cares.
Pass me a donut. Be quick.
Follow Women24 on Twitter and like us on Facebook.
