Tag Archives: Christmas

Something that happened last year

6 Jan

I haven’t been writing as much recently.  I haven’t really felt the same need to get the nasty things in my head out and onto my laptop screen. Because there haven’t been that many nasty things hanging out in there. Honestly, my darkest moments come when I dwell on the amount of cheese I’ve eaten over Christmas and the fact I fear I have put on around 100 lbs.

It’s dark and dreary outside, but in my head springtime is already here.

When I saw my counsellor before Christmas she said, “I’ll see you in the new year. And the new year can do all sorts of things to people.” I wished her a Merry Christmas and scuttled off down the street thinking how silly she was. It’s just a new year, after all. It can’t change anything.

I should have known better.

My counsellor is never silly. She’s an absolute fricking genius.

Indeed, I feel different. I feel better. I feel more like me.

I always knew – even through the depths of my sadness – that there would come a day when the pizza of doom was just something that happened to me once. Finally, I’m starting to feel that way. 

And I love being able to say that it was, “Something that happened last year”.

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A fresh start

3 Jan

I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but 2014 is already a lot better than 2013.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had my struggles already. Horrible weather. Lots of work to do. Having to force myself out of bed in the morning and wear something other than pyjamas to go to the office. Signing off cheese and chocolate until I shift a few lbs.

Last night I faced my greatest challenge of the year so far: taking down the Christmas tree. 

It may sound simple enough, but the truth is I had been living in fear for days. On Monday a large spider made a run for it, across my living room, behind the Christmas tree. He had been hiding out there ever since. Which meant I had to crawl around unscrewing the tree and taking off the lights in the knowledge that he was lying in wait. Petrifying. As it happened, we did not cross paths. I assume he is now lurking around in my bedroom.

Getting the tree out my front door took more strength and determination than I had anticipated. It knocked over everything in its path, and spewed needles all over my carpets. It also left a nice trail of needles all through the building (which can be traced to my front door). Anyway, out it went. And my pink tinsel reindeer, and various other Christmas characters went back in their box for another year.

Ahhhhhh, a fresh start. 

Feels good.

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Passive flirtatious behaviour

26 Dec

Happy Boxing Day.

I have spent the day lying around on the sofa at my parents’ house, eating my body weight in cheese and chocolate. I’m not complaining.

I am complaining, however, about B.

Latest update: he texts on and off. He was super lovely when I had tonsillitis. We last texted on Christmas Eve. I waited for him to text me on Christmas Day. Nothing. I waited for him to text me today. Nothing.

Meanwhile I notice that he has once again checked out my eHarmony profile. What is with this passive flirtatious behaviour?

Dude, just say hi.

I know what you are thinking. But I can text him. But I can call him. Yes, I can. But I did so on Christmas Eve, and I am not about to become the psycho who will not stop texting. I was that girl between the ages of 18 and 29. I have learned a little self-restraint in the past two years. Just a little bit. OK, a tiny bit.

Ahhhh, B, so ridiculously handsome and yet possibly somewhat of a non-starter.

Never mind, never mind.

I honestly think 2013 has hurt so much, that I can cope with just about anything these days.

However (my therapist says it’s OK to say this out loud so I’m just going to say it), I hate being single. I hate it. Not because I’m needy. Not because I’m desperate to get married right this minute (I have other plans for at least then extra few hours). Just because I love nothing more than being close to someone.

B, well, I don’t know that we will ever get close.

But someone will want to be close to me. Someday.

I smell nice.

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Last Christmas

25 Dec

Last Christmas I gave you my heart,
But seven and a half months later you ate half a pizza and then told me you had never been in love with me,
This year, to save me from tears,
I’m hoping next year will be better.

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Musings of a Grinch (a single Grinch)

24 Dec

Ahhhh, Christmas Eve.

We made it, my fellow blogger elves. We made it to Christmas. And I know at times we didn’t think that we would.

I haven’t blogged in the past few days. Partly I’ve been ill, and partly I’ve been having some kind of bipolar tendencies. One minute I’m high as a kid full of sugar plums, buying everything the shops have to offer and singing Christmas carols to myself. The next, I’m lying on my sofa sobbing uncontrollably because I’m going to be alone forever. And ever.

I’m entering into the Christmas spirit, regardless. I bought my mum and I reindeer onesies, which have gone down a treat. But, I swear to god, Facebook was designed to make us all feel rubbish about ourselves at this time of year. If I see one more picture of a baby dressed like an elf I will scream.

The fact is, you matter less when you are single at this time of year. Family plans revolve around the people who actually have other halves. Conversations revolve around the people who have kids. Or are kids (which doesn’t make for the most interesting dialogue). Last Christmas I was so ridiculously happy. My ex and I were constantly texting and Skyping. Kind of sickening. Kind of gut-wrenchingly heartbreaking.

Tomorrow I get to be the spare-part sister (a role I play so well) at my sister’s house.

But then it’s Boxing Day. Which means Boxing Day sandwiches and plenty of sleep.

And then this stupid year is nearly finished.

Next Christmas, you mark my sarcastic words, things are going to be different.

If they aren’t, I’m going to avoid Facebook like the plague in the month of December. And possibly book myself a flight to Hawaii.

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A little reflection

21 Dec

Today I went to see the psychic who I saw the week after the pizza of doom.

It was a good experience. We concentrated a lot more on my career and what the hell I am going to do about that area of my life. She assured me, once again, that I am getting married and having two kids. And she seemed to know exactly how I feel right now. Mainly that I am slapping on a big smile for Christmas, but regularly crying because I’m terrified I’m going to spend my whole life alone.

Just as interesting, though, was my journey to her house. The same journey I made on the 10th of August.

The 10th of August was a hot day. I was wearing a crumpled dress and flip flops because I had no clean clothes and no ability to dress myself. I had no makeup on. No jewellery. My hair was wet. I stopped at Starbucks on the way and sat shaking while trying to drink my coffee. I listened to Taylor Swift as I walked up Holloway Road. I met the psychic and almost immediately burst into tears. I spent an hour wiping my face while she assured me that, “This had to happen.” A mantra I have repeated to myself ever since. I left and sat in the park with my friend Trudi and her kids, trying to enjoy the simple pleasure of them saying cute things and doing funny things. And the I got the bus home, wondering how the hell I was going to get through a Saturday night in my flat, on my own. I was actually terrified.

Today was quite cold, and very rainy. I wore a clean dress with warm tights and my winter coat. And a hat and scarf for good measure. And all my usual jewellry. And makeup. I stopped at Costa on the way and treated myself to a full fat gingerbread latte. I sat and drank it, watching the rain, and people rushing around doing last-minute Christmas things. I listened to Christmas music on my way up Holloway Road. I chatted away to the psychic, about family and work and dating. I left, went into town and picked up some odds and ends that I still needed for Christmas. And when I got home, I immediately put on my pyjamas and revelled in the warmth of my flat, the smell of my scented candles, and A Muppet Christmas Carol.

I cried tonight. Hard. I was thinking about how my career is as successful now as I could ever have hoped it would be. But I’m the most unhappy I have ever been.

Then I thought back to the 10th of August. And the week before that. And I realised how far I’ve come.

This had to happen.

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I’m ill… again

19 Dec

I know I’ve mentioned before that I never used to get ill. In 2012 I had not one cold. Not one. In the first half of 2013 I did not suffer so much as a sniffle. It’s something I’ve always been very proud of. Perhaps too proud.

Since the pizza of doom I have had five colds. It hasn’t even been five months yet. Now, that’s a record.

In fact, this time around I seem to have raised the bar with what I am pretty sure is tonsillitis. Lovely.

This morning I had to present to my whole agency. I’d put together a great presentation about how Christmas advertising evokes emotion, and how we can use some tricks of the trade from the big retailers for our everyday creative work. I was excited to present. But last night I got approximately one hour’s sleep. And I had to start my presentation with, “I’m sorry, I don’t usually sound like Barry White.”

So all afternoon I’ve been on the sofa trying to keep on track of what’s going on in the office. Tonight I find myself trying to sort out stuff with our New York office.

Excuse me while I moan, but this is not what Christmas is about!

All I want to do is lie down. And cuddle someone lovely.

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Remember why

16 Dec

What was your best Christmas ever?

While you scratch your head trying to work out which year it was exactly, let me make things a little easier and hazard a guess that it was when you were a kid.

For me, it’s hard to differentiate. There’s a whole mishmash of glittery memories. A bike, a Barbie house, a hot water bottle in the shape of a mole (a surprising hit – well done, Mum), an art kit, ballet shoes, a riding hat, a lego train.

OK, before I sound like the most spoilt brat ever (and, no, I never did get the pony to go with that riding hat), I need to make the point that although I remember these things, it isn’t the things themselves that make the memories special.

It’s that fluttery, flappity, festive feeling.

Leaving school on the last day before the holidays, laden down with art and craft projects from the previous two weeks and cards from every person in your class. Watching ‘A Very Brady Christmas’ and ‘The Garfield Christmas Special’ with my sister. Going to bed on Christmas Eve, unable to stop wriggling from sheer excitement. Knowing that if you eat just two brussel sprouts you’ll get extra trifle for dessert. Curling up with your Nonna to play board games – and not even realising when she falls asleep. And snores.

It’s not about the things at all: it’s about the feeling.

Which is maybe why this year felt like such a grinchtastrophe. I just couldn’t shake feeling blue. But, I tried. I put up my tree. I made a playlist. I watched Christmas movies. And finally, something has kicked in.

I feel happy.

I feel lucky.

I remember why.

Rediscover Christmas, my buddies. Here’s a little bit of magic to help you out.

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Being a Grinch (sorry)

10 Dec

Christmas is a funny time. Every year of my entire life I have spent Christmas with my family, and stayed at my parents’ house (although there have been years we spent Christmas Day at my Aunt’s, or my sister’s). Which is very nice for me, really. I realise there are a lot of people that don’t have family to be with, or who can’t be with their family due to distance or circumstances.

But I’m 31.

I still feel like when I get on the train from London, it’s as if I’m a 19-year-old student coming home from university for the holidays, or a school kid finishing up for Christmas break. I’m a grown up. And yet I feel like an overgrown kid.

I just wish that I had someone to share it all with. My Mum and Dad have each other, my sister has her husband and her kids. And then there’s me.

When my sister was 31 she was married. When my Mum was 31 she was married with a kid.

We’re spending Christmas Day at my sister’s house this year. My nephews. My sister and brother-in-law. My Mum and Dad. My sister’s in-laws. And me. Singular.

Believe me, I know I’m a lucky cat and I feel very guilty for feeling the way I do.

But I feel empty.

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One more sleep

9 Dec

I’m not really a Leona Lewis fan. She has always struck me as looking too much like a camel. But, I’ve been listening to her new Christmas song ‘One More Sleep’ pretty much non-stop this morning.

Fabulous Christmas pop.

It’s very Mariah-esque.

And the words. Ahh, the words. A girl in love singing to the one she loves, who is going to be with her for Christmas. She’s counting down the sleeps.

I’ll admit it: I was this girl. When my ex did his first stint working in New York for four weeks, I counted down the sleeps until he was back. And I used to say on the occasional email (not every email I hasten to add), “Oohhh, nine more sleeps”, or “Two more sleeps ‘til I can snog your face.”

When I reached the point of one more sleep, I was beyond excited. I baked him his favourite cupcakes. I planned to leave work early the next day. I hardly slept, I was so excited to see him again.

It turned out to be one of the most depressing and hurtful weekends of my entire life. I went into work on the Monday morning and collapsed on one of my colleagues in tears. Ever the professional.

He came home. He ate the cupcakes. But he didn’t seem to want me around. He even gave me a lecture about how, “We are just two people who are going out. We aren’t married.” Let me tell you, he was the one always talking about marriage and babies and moving in. Not me. Him.

He said I got too excited about him coming home. He seemed particularly offended that I had counted the sleeps.

I asked him if he’d prefer that I didn’t give a sh** that he was home. If he’d rather have a girlfriend who was cold and thoughtless and didn’t make red velvet cupcakes that taste like drops of heaven.

Apparently he would.

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