Skype + The Foreign Spoon

I am addicted to Skype. There, I said it. I can spend my whole day talking to friends that don’t live here, that I haven’t seen in forever. I think I spent a total of 5 hours on there yesterday, talking to 3 different people. Laughing and catching up. And then, today, I spoke to Yanners. Who doesn’t live in another city or country. She lives downtown. Um, yeah. In fact, I just saw her last weekend. At first we were just messaging, and she told me she had a flu and that I should see what she looks like. So then, of course, we start with the video chat. She’s puffy-faced and wrapped in a blanket. Slept till noon, the whole nine. And she’s getting on a plane tomorrow. Yuck. I tell her that, although I open my eyes around 9am everyday, I don’t usually get out of bed till 11am, which then makes me incredibly annoyed with myself. I mean, I don’t go to sleep until about 3-4am, but still, rising at 11am is ridiculous! Yet I cannot seem to kick the habit. I have kicked so many enduring and life-altering habits as of late, but this one just keeps lingering on. Le sigh. In any case, I’m telling Yanners about my lazy butt, and she’s laughing. She tells me I should write about it. That I should revisit my blog. So here I am. And it is all thanks to Skype. Therefore, I refuse to feel as if Skype is sucking valuable production hours from my life. Obviously, it is on my side.

So, it’s been a while, I know. It seems that I lost my humor somewhere between reuniting with the ex-man in January, and breaking up with the ex-man a month and a half ago. But now that he is finally out of my life, I can return to my usual goofy, fascinated-by-the-inanities-of-life Ayesha. Yippeee!! I know, you are all extremely pleased. But, where, oh where to begin?? Let’s start with the Foreign Spoon shall we?

A couple of weeks ago, I ventured out of the cave to make myself a cup of tea. The kettle boils, I take the sugar out of the cupboard and the milk out of the fridge. When I open the drawer to get a spoon, I see something strange. There is a spoon in the drawer that I have never before laid eyes on. A spoon that looks nothing like anything my mother would ever own. A thin, flat-ish spoon with ‘decorative’ lines on the handle. Needless to say, I am completely taken aback. I mean, where on earth did this foreigner come from?? I stare at it, puzzled. Wondering at its existence, here in my mother’s cutlery drawer. How did it get there? Who is responsible? No one seems to know.

As the weeks have progressed, I expected this spoon to disappear as it had appeared- suddenly and mysteriously. But it hasn’t. It’s still sitting there. I refuse to use it. I don’t like it. At all. The look of it, the weight of it. I have expressed my concern to my family and friends, but no one seems to be bothered by the spoon except me. So, everyday, I see it in the drawer and I ponder it all over again. I am obsessed, it’s true. I have been known to be very particular about the utensils I use. I favor certain bowls, plates etc over others. I understand that this may seem ‘crazy’. That it reveals my latent discriminatory tendencies. Tendencies that all human beings possess. But really, I don’t discriminate against people. Or animals. Only kitchen items. So, whatevs. No biggie. Yes, the spoon needs to go, but for some reason I just can’t throw it out. I need to know its origins first. Then, and only then, will it get tossed.

Now I’m off to get ready for workie poo. And to research a writing workshop I can take to further along my play. Script. Whatever the hell it is.

Obviously, I need help.