Walrus in my Throat

 

I was going to write a post moaning about my life.

But then I realised that my family loves me, and even though marriage is hard work and doesn’t always make you feel great, it’s still something worth fighting for.

All the Christmas cheer makes me feel irritable and prone to hide away like a grinch, but I am happy everybody else is happy. I am happy that happiness exists in the world, and that even in the most trying of times, people are willing to share and give to those less fortunate. There are so many heart warming stories out there. I guess this ‘Christmas cheer’ does something to cold hearts after all.

The sight of somebody I used to know made me feel as though I was going to vomit from fear this week. It ruined my whole mood and turned my day gloomy and dreadful. That is, full of dread. But then I realised that I am a strong lady, and even if he did come to me and make my life miserable again I can kick him out because nobody will rule my life like that. Nobody. I refuse to let it happen. The very idea that it used to happen makes me so angry. So if push comes to shove, I will resurrect all my anger and use it to my advantage. Strength, my dear, strength.

I don’t want to do anything. But if I don’t, I will underachieve. If there’s one thing I have learnt about life, it is that it is brutal. It carries on despite you not being able to keep up. The more you lag behind, the more it swiftly speeds on ahead. So I have learnt that the only way to keep up is to go through the motions.

Get out of bed. Complete all set tasks. Achieve short term goals, which are slow ticks on a list that add up to a long term goal. Along the way, you might burst through a ray of sunshine. A walk on a grassy hill. The wind in your hair as you sail down a hill. Rain pattering on the trees, releasing a deliciously rich, earthy smell. A surprise kiss. A piece of chocolate melting in your mouth after a particularly hard day. An evening of laughter.

I will be strong.

I will be happy.

I will be successful.

I will feed my soul. There is very little soul feeding going on in the world lately.

I will spread joy.

I will live life.

I will drown the demons. They cannot win.

Meanwhile there is a perpetual walrus in my chest and sometimes it climbs up into my throat and makes tear-water leak from my eyes. But I will smother him. It’s not the time. It’s not the time. Yet.

Soon I will be alone, to have a nice lonely cry and feel sorry for myself, get it out of my system and then dry my tears and carry on.

Merry Carrying On to you all!

What Is This Madness?

hes terribly ugly is he notAn old joke in my family is to buy me hats for Christmas. I have a rather large assortment of hats, actually. Boxes of them.

I have a large blue Mexican hat with bobble tassels. That’s my favourite hat. I usually wear it out when it’s dark, and have creepy old Indian ladies glare at me.

Well, that actually only happened once. Terribly daunting, though. Killed myself laughing at the time, however.

So, why do I get hats? Well, it’s an old joke, you see. A take on the Mad Hatter, as it were. A pokage at my belief, of sorts.

I don’t believe in Christmas, as we have established. Therefore I wait until after New Year to give all my ‘Holiday’ presents. People used to think this was very pretentious and annoying of me. Like I was shoving my beliefs down their throat. They were also mad because they wanted more presents. Greedy pigs.

Anyroad. I said to them, “Well, humans, the thing is, you’re shoving YOUR beliefs down MY throat, by MAKING me celebrate with y’all”

That shut them up quickly enough. So, my parents and siblings agreed to let me give them their presents after New Year’s day, and I agreed to receive hats for Christmas. Well, I didn’t actually agree. They just do it. Rude cows.The Christmas presents I do get, I generally don’t open until well after Christmas. I generally don’t get them from family. Which is a good thing. Jolly good. Capital. And the rest of it.

This may be a little far fetched. But it is a fact, and a fact it remains.

Either way, I got seven hats today. One from each family member.

One hat was miniature. So, I put it on my mini globe. She feels the cold, poor dear. Then I got a bowling hat. That was green. So droll. I am wearing it as I type. I also got a beret, and it is red. I also got a tophat, which is green also. Like ‘That Green Gentleman’ (Shoutout to Panic! At The Disco fans!). I also got some other hats, but they were general hats, and not very specific hats. All in all, I am terribly pleased with my hats.

Hatrific day, as it were.

WELL, I SUPPOSE IT’S CHRISTMAS.

Merry Capitalism

It’s Christmas, folks.

Huzzah.

If you’re into that sort of thing.

I expect one would be expected to leap around in joy, clapping one’s hands, and releasing odd little squeals that tell of the inner hysteria, trepidation, frenzy and elation one is supposed to be feeling.

Well let me tell you that I am not doing any of those things. I am eating my decidedly unfestive dried figs, drinking my decidedly normal cup of honeyed green tea, and sitting in my decidedly messy bed, writing this decidedly melancholic blog.

My room also smells decidedly odd. I sniff at it through the blockage caused by my chest infection, and think to myself, yes, this is a decidedly mousy smell. I expect my little micies are running rampant under the floorboards this holiday. There is simply no getting rid of them. You catch one, and there’s always ten to the one you’ve just caught. It’s all very daunting and morbid, but in the grand scheme of things (I seem to be thinking about things in the grand scheme very often these days), I suppose it isn’t much worse than a burnt cookie. They will eventually leave, or we will eventually leave, and they won’t be much more than a spatter of a memory, too faint to be of any consequence.

At least, I hope so.

Anyways. Back to this Christmas fiasco. It just seems to me to be desperately overplayed!

It really does! All this tree buying and ornament hunting and gift wrapping and special singing and odd candling and remarkable cheering and frantic stressing and worrisome argumenting and ridiculous spending and extravagant, mindless indulging.

I was watching a vlog the other day, where this young lady was going out to BUY Christmas day clothes! How absurd! One already has a wardrobe full of fancy beauties, and one is going out to BUY nothing but a velvet T-shirt, for Christmas day! Now if it were something special, like a pretty dress, or something party-ish, then yes, go for it! But it was so decidedly something like all the other things she owns. What is the point in wearing something so decidedly like every other thing you own!?

I just think it’s all rather toshy, really.

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Especially considering lots of humans really want a piece of bread for dinner, and nothing else.

Especially how they prepare you, FORCE you into this festive mood, MONTHS before the actual occurrence. It’s all a terrible mistake, really. People stuff themselves full and count down… all for what? A sack of presents, a bit of fairy lights, and some dinner?

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And the significance? Oh please. Jesus was not born on the 25th of December, darlings. He wasn’t even born in the winter. He was born somewhere around the eighth month, to be exact. So, really, now, this whole Christmas palava is a bit of a joke.

So. What I have to say about christmas is, I enjoy the fact that there is rather a tonne of chocolate at a great price in the shops, and there are rather good sales after the event, but really, when it comes down to it, Christmas is just a material event, laced with materialism and things, and everybody loves each other and all that, but sometimes they don’t. and people’s expectations are raised too high, and they are pressured into spending a foolish amount of money, which they would benefit much more from investing elsewhere, and really, c’mon, stop allowing yourself to be pulled in by the shameless and rather obvious bit trickery the world of retail is indulging in.

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There. Now I shall finish my tea, and eat my figs, and go to sleep, because I am poorly, and being poorly is nice, in that one doesn’t have to work as much. Even though one has to fit into a dress by mid January, so bit pointless of one, really.

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