Apparently i'm leaving on the 9th. Yup, that's sooner than i had thought, in fact it's next weekend! For some reason saying, "next weekend" seems so much closer now that i have it on repeat.
My last day at work is on Friday. And i've only started to pack up my things from my desk, half of which are in boxes and the rest sprawled across my table as if someone's ransacked my table in a hurry. It's been described as a 7-11, a one-stop shop where you can find practically everything! Seriously, i'm sure you can find most things. Let's see, amongst my sea of crap and wasted trees... there are sensual massage oils [don't ask! And NO, there was nothing kinky going on =p], vitamins/legal drugs in one corner, a Heineken beer bottle cooler jacket and even a jar of soya bean mix in the other [or how my creative director likes to call, Carcass Beans; but that's a whole different story]. And that's not even covering what's in the drawers!
I will admit, there is no order in my packing or in my life for that matter. So far, design books are grouped together with photographs and loose pens are coupled with miniature toys that i've collected over time [yes i know, another surface to collect dust on and will probably not see the day of light until months to come].
...
So yea, i went to see Satan's spawn this morning. I skipped breakfast just so i could get my arse on the train on time and then spend extra time with him and still be able to make it to work on time. Every time i return to my apartment, i am forced to walk up the stairs and pass the unit where the murder had "apparently" taken place. My wilted bouquet of flowers remain untouched and beside it the burnt out candle. The ripped yellow "NO CROSSING" tape hangs beside the door like decoration and the tiles leading up to the door has a layer of dirt and is littered with leaves. It seems as if the owner has opened the windows and the glass shutters to air out the place. One has a clear view of the interior of the kitchen. Nothing seems to be cleared except the cupboards are wide open and there's an eery silence that hovers in the air.
I fear that one day i will walk up those stairs and the front door will be wide open. I guess i've been so used to coming home and seeing their front door wide open, allowing outsiders to have a sneak peak at what the living room looks like. I blame the Pisces in me and my overactive imagination to drive my fears. Perhaps i've seen too many C.S.I's and as a result the image of a blood stained floor with numbered markers remain in my thoughts each time i approach the apartment.
Within seconds i'm on the next floor up, steps away from my own main door. I'm welcomed by the meows of Satan Spawn and my concentration switches to him and his hungry cries. I tried to explain to him today that we're leaving. But i don't think he understood me since he was more interested in having his chin scratched. As usual he fell on his side hinting that he wanted his stomach scratched and his face lit up with joy.
I'm sure i've told you that i'm convinced he thinks he's a dog.
I lay on my couch and he snuggled up next to me and went on to telling me a lengthy story which in my opinion sounded exactly like the many stories he's told me before. I interrupted him to tell him that not only are we leaving this apartment but that due to unforeseen circumstances, i've been told that it's not a good idea that i bring him to my parents flat South of the border BUT dad being dad has found me a solution.
My dad works with this woman who already owns 2 cats and has a family of her own and they are willing to be the foster family until i eventually get a flat of my own and a job [both i do not have at this moment or have begun looking for]. Of course, i'll have visitation rights and once everything is sorted on my side, then i'll book him into quarantine and get him back. Problem is, the family doesn't live on the little concrete island down South, which means i have to cross the border each time i want to see him, which isn't all that far.
So it's not all so sad.
I just hope he behaves and knows that i haven't abandoned him... i guess i'll never know. I have to think positive.... on the bright side at least, he'll have company. But in a moment of i-feel-sorry-for-myself, not only do i have to say good-bye to Satan's spawn but i have to trust this foster family [whom i know nothing about] to care for him AND on top of that, say farewell to a life that i've become so comfortable with but have realised there's nothing left to offer me. AND THEN prepare myself for a new life/lifestyle by the time it hits 2-0-0-8.
WooOOooooh... talk about draaaaa-ma!
My last day at work is on Friday. And i've only started to pack up my things from my desk, half of which are in boxes and the rest sprawled across my table as if someone's ransacked my table in a hurry. It's been described as a 7-11, a one-stop shop where you can find practically everything! Seriously, i'm sure you can find most things. Let's see, amongst my sea of crap and wasted trees... there are sensual massage oils [don't ask! And NO, there was nothing kinky going on =p], vitamins/legal drugs in one corner, a Heineken beer bottle cooler jacket and even a jar of soya bean mix in the other [or how my creative director likes to call, Carcass Beans; but that's a whole different story]. And that's not even covering what's in the drawers!
I will admit, there is no order in my packing or in my life for that matter. So far, design books are grouped together with photographs and loose pens are coupled with miniature toys that i've collected over time [yes i know, another surface to collect dust on and will probably not see the day of light until months to come].
...
So yea, i went to see Satan's spawn this morning. I skipped breakfast just so i could get my arse on the train on time and then spend extra time with him and still be able to make it to work on time. Every time i return to my apartment, i am forced to walk up the stairs and pass the unit where the murder had "apparently" taken place. My wilted bouquet of flowers remain untouched and beside it the burnt out candle. The ripped yellow "NO CROSSING" tape hangs beside the door like decoration and the tiles leading up to the door has a layer of dirt and is littered with leaves. It seems as if the owner has opened the windows and the glass shutters to air out the place. One has a clear view of the interior of the kitchen. Nothing seems to be cleared except the cupboards are wide open and there's an eery silence that hovers in the air.
I fear that one day i will walk up those stairs and the front door will be wide open. I guess i've been so used to coming home and seeing their front door wide open, allowing outsiders to have a sneak peak at what the living room looks like. I blame the Pisces in me and my overactive imagination to drive my fears. Perhaps i've seen too many C.S.I's and as a result the image of a blood stained floor with numbered markers remain in my thoughts each time i approach the apartment.
Within seconds i'm on the next floor up, steps away from my own main door. I'm welcomed by the meows of Satan Spawn and my concentration switches to him and his hungry cries. I tried to explain to him today that we're leaving. But i don't think he understood me since he was more interested in having his chin scratched. As usual he fell on his side hinting that he wanted his stomach scratched and his face lit up with joy.
I'm sure i've told you that i'm convinced he thinks he's a dog.
I lay on my couch and he snuggled up next to me and went on to telling me a lengthy story which in my opinion sounded exactly like the many stories he's told me before. I interrupted him to tell him that not only are we leaving this apartment but that due to unforeseen circumstances, i've been told that it's not a good idea that i bring him to my parents flat South of the border BUT dad being dad has found me a solution.
My dad works with this woman who already owns 2 cats and has a family of her own and they are willing to be the foster family until i eventually get a flat of my own and a job [both i do not have at this moment or have begun looking for]. Of course, i'll have visitation rights and once everything is sorted on my side, then i'll book him into quarantine and get him back. Problem is, the family doesn't live on the little concrete island down South, which means i have to cross the border each time i want to see him, which isn't all that far.
So it's not all so sad.
I just hope he behaves and knows that i haven't abandoned him... i guess i'll never know. I have to think positive.... on the bright side at least, he'll have company. But in a moment of i-feel-sorry-for-myself, not only do i have to say good-bye to Satan's spawn but i have to trust this foster family [whom i know nothing about] to care for him AND on top of that, say farewell to a life that i've become so comfortable with but have realised there's nothing left to offer me. AND THEN prepare myself for a new life/lifestyle by the time it hits 2-0-0-8.
WooOOooooh... talk about draaaaa-ma!
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