Sunday, May 23, 2010

floor vs life

It's been a rough week at work with tensions and hormones running high. Luckily The One wrote a post for the blog because I have not been feeling particularly inspired. I've been working on a photo project for the blog in which I photograph our dinners for an entire week, but we all know what usually happens to my photo projects (especially during a crappy week). Anyhow, here is The One's post: 

(For those of you not fluent in Afrikaans, please feel free to run it through Google Translate or some such, but see the PPS at the end of this post before attempting that.)

So nou en dan krap ek die energie bymekaar om ons woonstel skoon te maak van hoek tot kant. Geoffrey hou nie daarvan nie omdat hy gereeld gaan wei op ons kombuisvloer. Hy vind altyd, enige tyd en enige dag, ‘n ietsie te ete iewers op die vloer wanneer hy peckish voel en weet al die lekker chewy bits eindig op in die hoeke van die skirting. Vicky het dit ook gou gesnap. Ons kombuisvloer het ‘n plek geword vir ons diere wanneer hulle op soek is na ‘n quick snack. So skuif ek toe ons bank vir ‘n verandering weg om onder dit te vee en te mop en ontdek toe ‘n hele maaltyd daar onder. Geoffrey wou die oer-“bits and pieces” eet, maar kon dit nie gevang kry nie. Lizz soek gewoonlik haar take-away in die gika van die zink in die kombuis, want ek bother nie om die stukkies hoender-mushrooms-mielies-pasta-en-wat-nog uit te krap of deur te druk af in die drein in nie (waste not want not).

Wanneer I ‘n sekere stuk klere soek dan sê ek vir hom hy moet gaan krap in die collection klere op my klavier en as hy dit nie daar kry nie gaan krap hy in die collection op die boekrak. Die vraag “weet jy waar X is?” word al te veel gevra in ons huishouding. Op my rekenaar maak ek goed en gereeld gebruik van die soekfunksie; ek weet die file is daar iewers, maar waar is iewers? Wanneer ek iets van die boerak wil hê (die boekrak berg veel meer as net boeke) dan voel dit of ek versigtig pick-up-sticks speel.

Hoe is dit dan dat ek nie meer omgee om in grensende wanorde te leef nie?

PS: Vicky maak baie gerieflik ‘n toilet van ons wasbak en ek, wat nou maar eers in my lewe katte leer ken het, het agtergekom dat jy nie ‘n kat kan maak iets nie doen nie.

Written by The One

PPS: I just ran the post through Google Translate and I was appalled at the quality of the translation. It was unrecognizable.

So, I have just spent half an hour translating it for you properly. It's not as though I have better things to do at 3:39am. I can't sleep anyway, and I am still bothered by that goddamned film we saw. So, here is the post for those of you who don't do Afrikaans:

Now and then I scrape together enough energy to clean our apartment properly. Geoffrey does not like it when I do that because he often grazes on the kitchen floor. He knows that, at any time and on any day, he will be able to locate a little something to eat somewhere on the floor when he feels peckish; he also knows that all the nice chewy bits end up in the corners. Vicky has also quickly realized this. The kitchen floor has become a destination for our pets when they are looking for a quick snack. So I moved the couch for a change to sweep and mop under it and discovered an entire meal under there. Geoffrey wanted to eat the ancient bits and pieces, but could not catch them before I swept them up. Lizz usually gets her take-away in the plughole in the kitchen basin because I don't bother about removing the bits of chicken, mushrooms, corn, pasta and whatever else, or pushing it down into the drain (waste not want not).

When I is looking for a certain piece of clothing, I tell him he should have a look in the collection of clothes on my piano and, when doesn't find it there, he looks in the collection on the bookshelf. The question, "do you know where X is?" is asked far too often in our household. On the computer I make good use of the search function; I know the file is there somewhere, but where is somewhere? When I want something from the bookshelf, (which stores much more than just books) it feels as though I am carefully playing pick-up sticks.

How is it that I no longer care about living in encroaching chaos?

PS: Vicky very conveniently makes a bathroom of our basin and I, who am only learning about cats at this stage in my life, have discovered that you can't make a cat not do something.

There.

Translated by I
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