Resistance

I struggled to leave Prague. I have struggled to integrate myself back into Cape Town; it's happening, automatically, because that's how life is, but with enormous Resistance.

I got back midday yesterday to my Woodstock apartment, which I immediately began cleaning and putting into place before I could relax (that's how I roll) into being alone with myself and not on the constant go. 

Within hours and to my delight winter-like rain driven by powerful and rumbustious wind was slating the windows and disapearing the city into the dove-grey blanket that was numbing me from it and it from me.

Last night I read in a bath up to my ears while listening to the juicy drops fat-splatting against the frosted glass window that opens northwards to the harbour and Robben Island. For as long as I could keep my eyes open for.

All in all I must crashed for twelve deliciously-deep hours before waking at 10h30 this cold and greyish Saturday morning. 

Cape Town. Not Prague.