this was monday. tomorrow is tuesday.

This weekend was a blur in my eyes. It went so quickly. Then again at the end of this week we will be entering into April. It went so quickly. This weekend I studied, I researched, I read, I listened, I wrote and I wrote. I ate chocolate and drank green tea. That was Saturday night.

I stood on the skateboard as Nathan, the small curly blonde 3 year old, pulled my arm. Along with pulling my limb he pulled the skateboard and Cailyn, his blonde 7 year old sister. We watched cartoons, we swung on the rope swing. Nathan got impatient, like any other 3 year old. Cailyn just wanted someone to play with her, like any other little girl. We ate banana bread as the westerly wind blew in through the glass windows that over looked the crashing waves. This was Saturday morning.

We left the house at 7am, driving along the highway, along the green vegetated road. Seeing wildlife, seeing townships, watching the mountains grow smaller in the background - We left Jeffreys Bay for Saint Francis. We turned into Saint Francis, passing the 'Wild Side' a part of the bay named for it's hectic waves that crash upon monster rocks and blow their wave back straight into the air. It is named correctly. We then found ourselves sitting in white lawn chairs behind our table with our 'Wors Rolls + Coke = R20' sign. We grilled wors (which is equivalant to America's bratwursts) and sold 30 of them to hunger surfers and gazers. We were set up on a patch of grass with a dirt trail at a feet, leading down the trail - the judges table, friends and families watching. Up the trail, cars, bikes, surf boards, and all of their owners. We were at a surf trial competition. You win this trial, you go onto the next and then you compete against the rest of South Africa - If you win there you join South Africa's surfing team. With the sun beating on my face and the wind blowing my dry, sunburnt legs I watched the waves rise and crash. They weren't even 100 yards away from me, the surfers bobbed, each one in a different color so the judge could differentiate. Each set of waves made you think it was a different sea, one set small and messy, the next

one following was double-overhead clean from the off-shore wind. Beyond these waves, that crashed at my toes I could see the other side of the bay. I was about a mile away and the waves were so large I could see them scoop the water up and then throw it down, playing too hard. They were just dancing in front of the mountain's cliffs that sat like an entranced audience. The whole sea opened up in this bay, I sat there watching the water just roll getting anxious from the groundswell below it, ready to grab some air and then explode into the sky. 6pm I sat in the car, with tangled wind-blown hair, dirty feet and sunburnt lips. By this time the wind was too chilly to be sitting in its path, by this time all the cars and bikes and surfboards left with their owners, by this time the sun was saying good night and the chokka boats were turning on their lights. We sat there watching the final four have at the last set of waves. By this time even the judges were all packed up, over the day's surfing. Eventually we too left the parking lot, every car, van, jeep gone - every longboard, shortboard, boogie board, skim board gone - every bike, piece of trash, towel gone. The land cleared and everyone went home done with surfing for the day, but the waves stayed - they kept rolling in and crashing (I'm sure). It didn't matter to them whether they had surfers playing on them, or sun warming them, they stayed whether it was for the late night chokka boats or for the twinkling stars up above - the waves stayed and crashed carrying on with their life. That was Sunday.

I had to work a shop-shift at CSA's thrift store, so I rode my bike up and down the hills to the shop. Got there hot and sweaty and took my spot behind the counter. Soon enough I was antsy enough I needed something to do, to read. I walked over, through the boxes, through the donations, passed the vinyl records and cassette tapes, passed the dishes and vases, across from the clothes, I walked to the book shelves. 'Vegetables' - I like veggies, I eat veggies, I'll read this. An old South African cookbook, with few recipes. It had pages full though of the art of vegetables, how to cook them, steam them, cut them, chop them. It made me want to go to culinary school - or just cook a really good meal that night. So, I rode my bike home, I borrowed the car, I drove to the grocery store, and I loaded up. I came home and cooked 'baked eggs and ratatouille with steamed cabbage and asparagus. And then I had gelato for dessert. That was Friday night.

Today is Monday - the start of a new week. The beginning of the end of March. Tomorrow is Tuesday, already it has come to fast. Tonight I cooked steamed veggies for dinner, tonight I will do more studying, today I worked in the thrift store. hhmmm.... Sounds like my life is stuck on the repeat button at the current moment. Doesn't matter though, the minimal things that fill my days don't effect the sun rising the next day, they don't effect April's coming, they don't stop the wave's sets from rolling in.