A distant acquaintance recently advised me to relax. She proceeded to spin for me a a web of justification for this supposed simple ability, much of which involved a m,angle litany of hippie bull twang. I won't bore you (as i was) with the details, but it basically boiled down to letting go of the long-held rage that has fermented in me for as long as I can remember. before disdainfully deleting her e-mail of advise, baulking at it with froth spluttering from my mouth and stomping on my partners head, I actually paused to offer a semblance of thought to this apparently futile advice. Relax. How are we expected to relax in December?
let me firstly state, I'd love nothing more but to tune out. It's December. The end of yet another year, a time to reflect, ponder and find peace, a time to calm yourself and.. ummm, to actually completely lose your mind! RELAX!!! That's a foreign word, no, wait, a swear word at this time of year.
Are we really supposed let our hair down when Christmas shopping looms large and ugly. Those of you with children start experiencing night terrors aroundt his time of year. Waking up in a pool of sweat screaming, "It's the last PS3 in stock in the country. Oh God, why have you forsaken me?!" Don't worry, relax, say the treehuggers.
Where will we find time to chill out as we anxiously await the road death toll scoreboard to start clocking over? I negotiate Cape Town's roads with fear embedded in my heart throughout the year, never mind over the December holidays when traffic volumes peak. If you've ever had the misfortune of driving in the Mother City, you'll know what I'm talking about. Be afraid, super-afraid. Relaxing is an option, of course, but try it while stuck in 34 degrees heat, queuing in a car of becah-anxious children, in a traffic jam.
I can't honestly say I'll be able to even allow my perennial rage and anger to subside at the beach. Here's some life maths for you to ponder: add 4 million Capetonian drivers, with a further 9 million tourists, subtract their intelligence, multiply that by a thousand, then cram the stupidity and lack of logic onto a stretch of road only about 2 kilometers long that leads to a handful of beaches where space is just as limuted. What do you get? A massive cock up, which will in turn subtract all of your patience and give you zero to relax about.
"Go on holiday abroad" the shrink will tell you for a R1000 an hour. Look abraod for freedom, but only if you are a katrillionaire (that's a hundred thosuand trillions). For us regular (read: poor) schmucks, a festive season holiday abroad starts to resemble a dirty, lascivious fantasy, that's how much we desire it, but can't have it.
Chilling out over a sun downer on a Friday afternoon must surely be the key to eternal relaxation? Not eternal, but very fleeting, maybe, after you get the bill. Always remember, there are two separate menus here in the fair Cape: one for the locals and one for the 'Uitlanders'.
So, if you prepared to deal with throngs of idiotic motorists, packed beaches, exorbitant prices, traversing the sad and demented gauntlets of consumerism, coupled with pointless advise on how to relax, then... relax and good luck.
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