Chronicles of Fly - the holiday edition


I’m on holiday, did I hear someone say “you lucky bugger!” Well yes I am. Most of my friends have to work over the holidays so they only get 3 to 4 days of over Christmas, and most them envy me. They also want to wake up after 8 AM and clean their mom’s fridge out. Well that was how my holiday was supposed to pan out, but those weird individuals called parents don’t have the same view. When they hear the word “holiday”, they start imagining all sorts of time consuming, energy sapping chores for the extra pair of hands home from Varsity. Sometimes I think they even have meetings to make sure that while there is extra help around the house, it is imperative to maximise and exploit it (okay maybe I’m going overboard, but yaa’ll know what I mean).

So my holiday has turned into a working holiday, now I’m not being a sissy but I was not built for manual labour, my body is just one of those that do not respond well to physical exertion. 20 minutes of shovelling dirt and my hands turn from normal to orange-pink (yes, it’s a colour).

The other day I’m chopping branches of the trees next to my room, when my aunt strolls in to inspect, she squints her eyes and goes “why you using a ladder, it’s for cowards, real men climb the tree while they are chopping it” (I knew this was a bad idea, but in our culture you do as told). So I reluctantly ditch the ladder and climb the tree, so while swinging the panga, I slip and my left foot slides of the branch. Luckily for me I have two hands, so with my free hand I hang off the tree, dropping the panga while in mid-air, and I land on the ground like a gymnast gracefully dismounting (actually, I fell awkwardly and rolled over). So I decided to go back to the ladder, I don’t mind being called a coward as long as I’m a coward who is breathing and in one piece.

Two days later I'm shovelling pebbles in our front yard (don’t ask, my aunt came up with it while watching me sitting and doing nothing). A few wheelbarrows later, I feel something in my back. But for fear of ridicule I set it aside, but I went to bed feeling really funny. So the next morning I wake up feeling like I just broke my back and my head is heavier than my school bag in high school. So I stroll in for breakfast and I ask for painkillers “What for?” she asked me, I made the mistake of saying “My back hurts”. Apparently people under the age of 50 don’t complain of back pain, like ever. I spent the rest of the day in bed attempting not to move and ignoring the pain. But eventually like a sissy I gave in and took a couple of panado’s (paracetamol), I took enough to knock down a baby elephant, it was a little Conrad Murray but I was in pain darnit!. 

So after some advice from a med-student and great massage from my little sister, my back stopped PMS’ing. Three days later I was back shovelling pebbles into the wheelbarrow, so as I’m pulling the wheel barrow my finger gets stuck between the wheelbarrow handle and a steel pole. Anyone who has ever had a finger stuck in a door by accident knows what I’m talking about. So I went on about my business, but my finger kept saying “You idiot that was painful, WTF you doing to me?”. So I decided to put the finger in my mouth to numb the pain, and as I did that I tasted a distinct tasting liquid (blood tastes funny). That is when I held my finger up to the light to discover to my horror that I had slashed open my finger and was bleeding all over the wheelbarrow (never knew that blood was that red). My little sister comes to my rescue again after I stopped bleeding of course, she cleaned my finger and tried to kill all feeling in it by overdosing it with methylated spirits, those of us who go to barbershops know that spirits and an open wound equals irritating pain. My aunt of course ridiculed my elastoplast, apparently elastoplasts are for “omawaya/Cowards”. A wound must just be open, so the sensitivity dies.

What i had in mind for my holiday, one is allowed to dream right?
So I’m going to enjoy my holiday, if anything interesting happens, you will be the first people on the web to know, after my facebook friends and twitter followers, so if you will excuse me , I have to go do some manual labor.

Comments

  1. Anonymous17 December 2011 at 13:27

    YOU COMPLAIN A LOT FOR A GUY

    ReplyDelete
  2. Descendant of Beasts17 December 2011 at 13:30

    Complain is a strong word, i just merely air my grievances towards certain situations

    ReplyDelete

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