First and foremost – is tumbleweed really the right word to use for tolbos? Anyway, it is Monday evening and the whole house is asleep. Fudge the Pekingese is snoring away happily on the bed between us. I hear the sound of the clock in the lounge, silently counting the number of times it rings. I actually know it will be 12. It is midnight. The hamster is having a race to the moon and back on her wheel in the cage in the lounge. I wonder how many watts a hamster generates in their lifetime?
It is officially Tuesday and not Monday anymore. My brain feels like a tumbleweed (yes I do seem to think this is the right word to use), being driven by the wind in a direction. Like something I have no control over. The wind and my thoughts.
I think about what is lying ahead. Provisional tax. How I am going to feel tomorrow, potentially like a worn out rag. All because I missed my little window of sleep (due to an unplanned task landing on my desk, not work related). I missed the opportunity to sleep by I don’t know how many hours.
How many calculations must be done before 31 August 2022? Was it right of me to remove someone from my list because they owe me money for months and I am unable to reach them by all means possible to me? Is my interpretation of a provisional tax payer correct? Am I reading and interpreting the Act correct? What am I going to wear to the event that I was invited as a guest speaker in November?
What must I tell the people??? Who wants to listen to me? I wonder how the Adorned camp is going to be like? Am I going to know anyone there? Am I going to share a room with a stranger? How am I going to submit all the tax returns by 24 October 2022? Why did I choose this job??? This job that makes me want to panic and run around the room, every second day, like Spongebob and Patrick. If you are wondering what I am talking about – go to Whatsapp and under gifs search for Spongebob and Patrick panic and then you can laugh with me with what I am trying to say here.
I AM now both Spongebob AND Patrick. Or can I let my husband be Patrick? He does not look like he has a worry of a day old. I envy him and my daughter that can just fall asleep when they get into bed. Why am I typing this? What am I going to achieve with this? Oh my word, are the 2023 diaries really going to look pretty? What am I trying to say with this entry?
Just like a tumbleweed being blown around by the wind, all my thoughts are tumbling and twisting through my brain. Without control and left at the mercy of the wind. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and try to sleep. But man oh man, it is like sleep is playing a dodge game with me. There is just too much traffic in my brain. Then, out of no where, it is as if God comes to create order in my thoughts.
That which must be said at the event later the year starts to take shape. Of course I am making mental notes, because it was just too cold to get up for a pen and notebook or even start up my laptop to capture the concept.
The uncertainties about how I am going to get everything done is moved to one side. Everything is going to be ok. I am going to finish in time with everything. I must just do my bit. If people do not want to pay, then I am not obliged to render a service. Pick ‘n Pay does not hand out sugar to people who does not want to pay for it. Why should our industry be any different?
I can feel how Tiredness is stalking me. Slowly but surely, on tippy toes and gently so that I do not get a fright that might change my DNA or blood group if I spot Tiredness. With a greatful heart, I snuggle in and pull the duck down duvet up to my nose, turn on my side, greeting Tiredness with open arms.
The Tuesday, as I was getting ready for the day, I find myself humming a song. Psalm 46 (featuring Chelsey Scott) by Bifrost Artists. The chorus stands out to me. Be still….and know… that I… am God. I realise again, that this is what God told me in the wee hours of the morning when sleep was avoiding me….
Die tolbos
