The Hairy Eyeball

When I stopped in to see my mom on the way to work today, she could see there was something wrong with me. "Your eyes are skew" she said. I have been feeling a little crazy. Easy to hide The Crazy from other people, who can be quite relieved when you avoid eye contact. Not so from your own dear mother. She just knows. Then she bores into my head with her eyes, as if she can see the root of my crazy and do something about it. It just makes my eyelids droop. I am quite sick of my brain. I don't even want to talk about it.

The rad thing is scanning a crowd as you go on walkabout. Usually - this is wildest Africa, after all - you spend your time avoiding eye contact with the crazy people, the people wanting jobs, the people wanting money. Which are at EVERY SINGLE TRAFFIC LIGHT as you drive around. Just waiting to stick their hand in your car window or follow you until you stab them in the eye. I used to feel sympathetic, but I have no sympathetic left. Now I just have a stiff neck from shaking it "no" a minimum of 10 times every single day. And that's only because my drive to work is 10km through suburbia. Weekend driving is worse. You encounter more traffic lights. Some intersections have five beggars/salesmen. And most of them breathe booze fumes on you and have ceased to even ask for cash. They just breathe on you with an outstretched hand.

Off on a tangent. Fuck it, man.

Today I got to be the crazy person. I went to a fancy shopping center to get hair conditioner - long blonde hair, I use a shit load - and gave the hairy eyeball to many a fancy folk. I must have looked a bit like a drunk, with my crazy eyes, and my jean shorts and havaianas, amoungst the neat-as-a-pin business tycoons.

I need a cup of tea. Peppermint tea. I have banned myself from espressos until my eyeballs are back to normal.