… I want to talk about me?

Admitting that I have crap cell phone reception where I live that makes having a conversation pretty difficult is easy. What isn’t so easy is admitting that after ending the call, as I sat in the drizzling rain a little longer I was more scared than ever by what we had spoken about. Or perhaps didn’t speak about. Do we want the same thing but are both just too scared to admit it or is it in admitting it that makes it so much scarier?

Not dwelling on the question, or possible answer for no other reason that it could never be resolved without us sitting down face to face and working through it, I moved back inside to a quite evening with a great new book, a bottle of my favourite wine and a box of Turkish delight given as a thank you present. Monday morning would see my eating plan resume but from now until then, it was comfort food all the way.

Still drizzling the next morning, and with novel in hand I sat waiting for friends to arrive for brunch. If Jo’burgs signature colour is gold, then its signature sound is the ambulance siren. It seems like all day, every day people are getting hurt and the whole city has to hear about it. But what about the injuries that don’t get a siren? Whether you’re falling into a pot-hole in the street, or possibly falling back in love … just how dangerous is an open heart?

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