When my dad wants something, I cannot often say no.
Even when it’s mortifying .
Well, I don’t often have a problem with mortifying myself or whatever. I mean, they think I’m the biggest satanist in their small town.
I’m not, relax.
So, as those who follow my fathers posts -the few of them- know, he’s making a compost heap at the warehouse. So in celebration of the bio degradable whatever he has on there which I think is like leaves and grass and wood stuff, we went grass hunting in our little community.
So I. The middle of a very busy street that kind of leads into the highway, I stopped, put on my Hazards and ask the municipal worker (our luck, they were cutting grass) if we could have the bag they were bound to just toss away.
After an odd look between them, one shrugged and told me in Sesotho that it’s fine, take as many as I want.
I only understand a bit of Sesotho, like most white girls in Southafrica. But got the gist as my worker jumped from the truck and started loading the refuse bags onto the truck.
Now, you’ll ask about my anxiety and my depression.
Yes, I do have a thing for talking to strangers, but I’m learning to overcome those by little things like talking to people in public and pushing myself to become more social.
It’s really something that I work on to get myself to where I use to be.
I really want to get better. I want to move out of my depression and be the extrovert that I use to be. Fun. Happy.
Well, I’m sure we were the talk of the town this day when I just got out in the middle of the town to load some bags onto the truck. But as I haven’t lived here my whole life, and practically don’t know anyone of importance, or who would generally expect more from a psychotic child as myself, decided that I don’t generally care what narrow minded small town people think of me, anymore.
So do I chalk that up to depression or getting better?
Am I losing my empathy with stupidity?
Am I ranting?
ANYWAAAAY
To get back to doing crazy stuff;
This was actually fun. I enjoyed doing something way out of my comfort zone to assist my Dad in his crazy projects that he gets going. Unlike me, he actually follows through with his projects.
I actually cannot wait for the garden out back to start.
Must surely wait for all this grass and stuff to decompose, right?
Right.
I’m not really a big gardener and all my plants die because I suffer from crow brain (getting distracted or forgetting a lot of stuff)
So safe to say that I stay away from growing things.
But I love the whole serenity of a little garden. It makes me feel like there’s a little eden just for me.
Well, that’s all from us, here in Rural South Africa.
Love
🖤
The starving African Kid
Katrah
