Bag of Goodies

My first unofficial travel entry.

GP visit - Check
Brown boxes flung all over floor for packing - Check
Two lists of 'to do's' as long as my arm - Check
Sanity - Uncheck

I came back from Dr Carolyn today with enough medicinal stock to keep the Salvation Army going for a year. I felt proud walking out of Dischem, with my bag of goodies. And felt a bit like Indiana Jones, the Daring Mad Adventurer, off to explore unknown and unchartered waters. But the reality is, South America is just a different version of South Africa. Same same, but different.

The way I'm carrying on, with ointments for insect bites, cuts, runny tummies, one (only one!) dose of antibiotics, insect repellent (smells more like human repellent - vile green stuff that will send any hunk of a man running, yes that was the point), essential stuff for woman, more creams, stuff for making you vomit less (oh great) and stuff to make your head stop spinning (and I'm told this is not a miracle pill for a 48hr non-stop party aboard a Carnival float), and some other essentials.

Yawn. All this medicinal talk makes me tired. That and all the boxes glaring at me, asking why I am procrastinating with the packing. BECAUSE. I don't know WHERE TO BEGIN. Because when the boxes go I'm minus my bare essentials such as 1. Russel Hobbs coffee filter (of brag worthy status), 2. My beautiful pots & pans. 3. All my kitcheny stuff I love to death and 4. All my clothes (only the bare essential androgynous items remain behind).

With each passing day I'm losing more and more of my western attachments and things that make me feel secure, spoilt and human. They are taking it all awaaaay.

Now it will just be ME. ME, my backpack, thoughts (no MP3 to drain it out), and combo pants. I was never a fan of GI Jane, but will just have to become an enthusiast of all things kaki.

But then again, after playing a hand at the corporate game, the monochromatic way of being has sadly, seeped into my soul...I do hope Rio converts me again. She did last time. And I shall cling fast to the hope that she maintains her high frequent energy, an energy which takes you up, up, up and faaar away. Away from life back home, away from reality.

Perhaps that is where the obsession with travelling began. It allows me to escape, to another time, another place, another part of my soul. I don't have to pretend to by anything to anyone. I can just be. No expectations. No issues dragging me down. Nothing.

Just a beautiful clean slate that needs to become a masterpiece.