Cafe Jiran, North Beach.
Another coffee, but not just another coffee joint; most defintely not another appalling mall, but I enjoy the crowds and noise. That I'm anonymous but not alone in a sea of people; it's good for writing. People stimulate me. They also horrify me.
Words flow, just behind their thoughts. On a leash...
Life's pressured right now, as I complete the words, sentences and paragraphs of my current chapter, as I begin the mind-mapping of the next; I wait with excited anticipation for the fleshing out of the bones. Plenty of surprises.
My life's changing again. This time I'm much better prepared for it, emotionally and mentally. Unlike a year ago I'm, also, largely free of the hold that possessions could have on me; I'm travelling light: At the most a car boot full of stuff. At the least one medium-size suitcase.
As I mentally prepare by searching-and-clearing-and-deleting my mind's archives and store rooms - and as I embrace the beginning of the second half of my life - I am grappling with the concept of truth, MY truth.
As for Durban, and Kzn, I lavish them with long head-over-heels-in-love gazes. And sneak furtive S3 Instgaram glances. Love.
[The energy is low, the unenergetic words hardly flow; I post for the record, my record; for the discipline of putting words down irrespective of the strong sewerage desire of doing exactly the opposite.]