so, I called in sick

I wanted to get started on my list of things to do to get over writer's block [see looking for my mojo]. Not really sure how these particular challenges are going to get the juices flowing, but I'm trying. It's not like I have anything else to write about.

So, I called in sick. Seemed like the easiest, most convenient one to start with. Mostly because I had barely slept all night and was dead tired anyway. I woke up at noon, took an hour to actually get ready to leave the house. Left the house deciding to do things I've been putting off for months. Drove to the optician to get new eye-glasses because I broke mine back in June and still haven't gotten a replacement. There was no parking space so I left.  Drove to the jewelry shop to shorten the ring my aunt gave me for Christmas in 2010. There was no parking space, so I left.  Drove to the Nail Salon, to the Stationer's shop, to the shop that's been bombarding me with SMSs because it's 70% off, but no parking. So I left. I drove back home, after an hour of aimless driving, ready to have lunch. But there was no place to park.


Basically, nothing happened that day. If anything, it got me even more depressed about the fact that nothing interesting is happening anymore and it's all boring routines, traffic jams and unproductive days. I went to bed angry. 


Then the next day, I was really sick. Woke up feeling nauseous and unable to move. Slept it off and woke up feeling much better three hours later. Meanwhile, I had called in sick, obviously. So I got on my feet and walked around, even though it was pouring rain. I hit the bank, did my nails, paid my credit card bill, paid my rent. Went to my studio, which is supposed to be my writing haven and which I haven't really used properly since I've been suffering from writer's block... But my roomy and I decided to do a huge cleanup, fixed it around, and when I finally sat down in front of my computer, something magical happened: I got an idea. 


Unfortunately, I can't share that idea with you yet, because then I might jinx it and I'll be right back where I started. But the point is, it kind of worked. 


Then, later last night, I was at a friend's, and I was talking about wanting to go somewhere for inspiration. Traveling, somewhere, anywhere, just to see something new. Different experiences always inspire. So he made me play a game: there was a map of the world on his wall, and a flechette [one of those small arrows you throw]. Anyway, after about ten failed attempts for the flechette to actually stick, and my friend patiently telling me exactly how to throw it, it finally landed on South Africa. I was in Cape Town and Johannesburg in June 2010, for the World Cup. It was the last trip my ex-boyfriend and I took together, a couple of months before we broke up. I had fallen in love with Cape Town. I remember thinking that I could just buy a cottage on the beach and stay there forever. It was so beautiful, so vibrant, so colorful. We stayed at the most amazing hotel I've ever been, the Cape Heritage, and we had an amazing time, with the world-cup fury and all. But something was off during that trip. Although we spent two weeks together, alone, and we had a lot of fun, something was going sour. I couldn't put my finger on it at the time, but I see it clearly now. We weren't the same "us" anymore. And when the flechette landed on South Africa, I realized I had to let it go. Close my eyes and remember the sea-shore, and Table Mountain, and the unbelievable rush of watching a football game with tens of thousands of people. Remember the good memories, let go of what hurts. Because when I meet someone else, I can't be so scared of getting attached that I forget to enjoy it. I can keep the thrill of riding the helicopter, but let go of the fear. 


I threw the flechette again. It landed on Costa Rica. Might seem random but the crazy thing is my best-friend and I are planning to go to Costa Rica in April. It's the "greenest" country in the world. The goal is to go spend ten days in wildlife settings and going back to our sources. Forget our chi-chi make-up bags and heels at home, and dig our hands in the soil. Literarily. Remove all the layers we put on all year long: the brave hand-shake at a work meeting, the flirtatious smile on a night out, the mask we put on when we're feeling blue, the hello-how-are-yous we don't really care about. We want to stay away from the things we do because it's the right thing to do, or because we have to do it, or because that's what we're expected to do. In the end we don't know what is real and what isn't, what we really want and who we really are. So we want to go to a place where there is nothing but plants and trees and creatures we've never seen before. Where no one will judge the size of our hips or the things we say. Somewhere we don't speak the language, know no one and want nothing.


I threw it a third time. It landed right in the dead sea, between Jordan and Egypt. It struck me as odd at first, and then I remembered: the dead sea was where we went for our last vacation with my mother. We went to Aqaba in Jordan and on the last day, we went to the dead sea and had the funnest time floating around and putting mud all over our bodies because it's "good for the skin." During that vacation, I saw my mother dance, water-ski, laugh, run around and put mud all over everyone's face. She had such positive energy even though she was months away from dying. And I realized yesterday that this is the place I need to go to, in my mind, when I'm lost. The place that reminds me of her strength, her joie de vivre, and these amazing yet fleeting moments that get lost in the spectrum of time. When I remember the sand grabbing onto my feet and the water standing still, it grounds me. She grounds me. 


The Dead Sea in French is called la "Mer Morte." La Mere [Mother] Morte. 


So, I called in sick.  Went for a trip around the world. And brought some of my mojo back.