Tomorrow morning, my little man will wake up and I won’t be there. I’ll be doing the last of my things to do before finishing up before Christmas and snatching him from the creche for two whole weeks with his Mum. He’ll be mine, and for two weeks I’ll have him to myself, no care staff, ta very much.
I’m astonished that it is the end of December, the end of the year. My performance at work, family and at writing sucked in comparison to other years. I’m tired, distracted and fighting fires rather than planning and achieveing. It seems to be a thing, everyone else seems to be behind on the presents and the to-do lists. Last Thursday saw me come in at 6.3oam not to write but just catch up on the most basic stuff. I’m slow as an earthworm these days and I know it.
Can you consider this your Christmas card, by the way, while we’re at it? Please consider this the complements of the season. May you eat until you’re stuffed and then some.
Merry Christmas, y’all
We’re nearly at the solstice, the much longed-for indication that Winter is at it’s peak and soon the darkness will be replaced with light.
Oh happy day! I am so over the darkness of Winter. I rise and go to sleep in darkness, and am very much fed up with it. This morning, at 8am, the sky was so dark it seemed like the middle of the night. Enough, already, Nature, you’ve made your point.
So we head towards Christmas, and Saturnalia. As traditions go, it’s worth keeping up no matter what your sense of faith or religion. And all of it is worthwhile; a massive feast, a festival of lights, a gathering of the clan to keep away the darkness…
And I have nothing done. Not a card sent, not a tree bought. I think I will have to get through the next few weeks moving as fast as those Tasmanian devil cartoons from me youth….
Right. Best get cracking. Talk to you next week.
So, it is Sunday. Sunday night, to be exact. I would love to give you a blog full of wisdom and good cheer, that extols the virtues and raises you up to inspiring heights. Or rather, create a funny, cheeky blog, full of wacky adventures that make you grateful for your own ordinary life, your own ways and mannerisms.
Instead, though, I’m just tired. I’m really tired, the kind of tired that is uninspired, unwise, and a bit whiny. I want to stop, stop writing, stop working, stop trying. I want to have my hard work acknowledged by all around me and my goals to come down and meet me half way. I want to be recognised as a good person without any flaws and to have those who seem blind to this fact beg me, just beg me for forgiveness. I want to be the only car on the road, the only voice in my ear, the only paradigm of success for others. I want to be rich, thin, pretty, smart and content.
All this. I’m ungrateful for my lot in life, my son, my husband, my work, my writing, my home, my happiness. There are people out there who would love my problems.
Doesn’t mean they don’t still feel like problems, though. Is it the time of year, do you think? The darkness just goes on and on, and we all get restless and discontent and hunt for things to make us sad? Don’t know. Don’t really care, either. Just wish I could get five more hours sleep per night and more time at work and everything and everything… Anyways. The writing is continuing. The work is all. We’ll get there. And we’ll use the whines as inspiration.