(I have been reading a lot of Poirot lately. The faux-French accent he talks with in my head is weirdly addictive. Also here’s Hugh Laurie speaking French at an award show. That man.)
I know I promised I’d be back in a week, but I spent last week panicking about my exam and this one on a paracetamol-and-other-related-prescription-medication-induced-high. What even is an immune system? My parents are already taking bets on how many months I can make it through before I give way to the raging alcoholism that is clearly the only remedy to my cold and stress related issues. And how about you? How are you? How is your winter going? Is it going filled with nostalgia, parties, hot caramel coffee and warm woollen hugs, or snot and cough-syrup, like mine?
(Pro tip: if it’s the latter, try finding a semi-sympathetic human and complain to it about the misery of your phlegm-subsumed existence for the rest of the month. It helps. And every time someone yells “THE COLD NEVER BOTHERED ME ANYWAY”at you, punch that smart-ass right in the face. That helps more.)
It’s halfway through December! Whoo hoo! Mid-December has always been a time for reflection for me- on the year almost-gone-by and on the one emerging out of the mists of distant times. I love the crackling sunshine, the cold that seems to seep its way into your very veins, firing you up. There’s something hopelessly romantic about winter, for me, but since I’m irrevocably a part of the aged spinster club, I’ll probably spend the rest of my sparkling winter alone with Netflix (or its free equivalents) and several gallons of hot drinks.
It’s also my mommy’s birthday, bless her, but she stopped giving a crap about a quarter of a century ago, so it’s no biggie. (I do plan to bake her a cake, though- any suggestions?)
I’m disgustingly cheerful and optimistic about the year approaching ahead. I’m completely convinced that this is it, this is the year in which I turn everything around, achieve the reality I’ve been pining for since I was ten years old, which is a hope I’ve felt maybe never in my nineteen years of existence. Tumblr motivation blogs keep trying to convince me it’s possible- and what do you know, maybe it is. Maybe, for the first time ever, I’ll write up a couple of new year resolutions, negating the annoyingly smug self-aware pessimist in me, and even get up off my butt and actually achieve something. And then hello, glorious future self, and goodbye, ghost of nightmares past!
It is a vain hope, but it is one I’m going to stick to until I’m forced to let go. Such is the disease of human spirit. ( Also known as Motivation 101 from your favourite blogger. Much lurve.)
In other news, I never realised just how much of a big deal Christmas is in the outside world. My family, which took on the spirit of Grumpy Cat way back in the nineties before it was cool, does not believe in celebrating anything, including Christmas and birthdays, and so I never actually faced the full measure of that special category of feeling known as Christmas emotions that seems to attack the average human around this time. There’s an overload of everything Christmas everywhere and since I can no longer look at anything without analysing it nine ways to Sunday, I can’t decide if I want to be bemused at the mass hysteria, cynical about the validity of a religious festival in an age when religion itself is becoming invalid and irrelevant, outraged at the commercialisation of pure human joy or simply be happy that people have found an occasion to be happy about in the midst of the horror show of daily life. Which of these is ultimately the most worthy of being felt- or should I chuck all of these out and just be excited about the obscene amounts of food the season gives me an excuse to gorge on?
I think I’m going to go with that last one. It seems much less complicated. What do you think?