You know it was a good party when you wake up feeling fine but still manage to pee the bed.
I've been absent, but it's been part of a new self-preservation strategy (don't do everything you want to do), and I think it's worked well enough that I can move on to phase two (do everything). Last week was the depths; it got a little easier once I could describe exactly how I felt, which was Spent. Every day I felt like I was giving what I barely had (even though I was actually being less nice to people than usual - two nights of shit sleep will do that), and when I got home there was nothing left except a grumpy shell. Someone said Vincent deserves a medal, and in spite of wanting to punch them in the face, I whole-heartedly agreed. Then Friday came, and in spite of exhaustion, I went to the pub, and remembered what it was like to be around people who don't need you to do anything for them. On Saturday, Vincent and I took Mum to buy her Christmas present from Roger's, and I remembered what it's like to be with someone who loves the little things, and we got to walk around beautiful plants and trees for an hour, with Vincent pushing our bright pink wheelbarrow. That night we went to our friends' Christmas party, and I remembered that there is, actually, a from of exercise I do, actually, enjoy, and that is dancing; particularly to 80s pop hits but the heart-rate was definitely higher during the drum & bass, and that meeting people can actually be enjoyable. Last night we did the last of Missy's Christmas shopping with her, and got to see the presents she's painstakingly wrapped, and the cards she has been making when she goes off to her room, puts up the Do Not Disturb sign she made at her birthday party (everyone else's just had their name), and pumps up the Bruno Mars (the cards would melt the heart of The White Witch herself). We ate at McDonalds, she and Vincent jousted with foam noodles at The Warehouse, and we picked dvds together. It was the final step in my recovery.
December is hard - I love it, but there's no denying it. There's so much to do, and when you work in a job that requires you to interact with fifty million people a day, it can be really hard to maintain any semblance of cheer, and when you remember the days of your youth when you had energy to burn so that wasn't a problem, it can be hard to give yourself a break; you feel like you don't deserve it, and you don't have time anyway - there's too much left that needs doing, and if you cut the things that can be cut, then all that's left is the stuff like waiting in line at the postshop, and having to have fillings redone because the (Mickey Mouse) dentist used defective stuff in your mouth.
So here is something enjoyable, albeit a bit sad too. I recently found this tumblr called Old Love of pictures of people who used to love each other. I think old love is one of the saddest things in the privileged world; even when people move on to better-suited love, the idea that a little flame that seemed like the most important thing in the world, burned out, appeals to my nostalgic and melancholy sides; I think of all the plans, and the beginnings, and then all the little signs that it wasn't forever. Anyway, the tumblr is addictive so a good escape (though not entirely mindless), and made me realise several things.
1. Youth is beautiful.
2. Anjelica Houston is the best.
3. Howard Hughes was a slut.
4. You have to take photos. Of everything.
Also I thought What happened to Winona? She, even more that Kate Moss, was queen of the nineties; queen! And now a Christmas song, because we need one and also we're running out of time. Six days, friends! Six days!