Even if you vow to stay out of the rushing and gushing and general mayhem that kicks in at this time of the year, somehow you always seem to end up busy doing shit you don’t wanna do. I’m not necessarily taking about buying presents – although that’s in there – but…busy pre-Christmassy shit you can’t get out of, made worse by the infernal crowding everywhere you go. I yearn for New Year’s day when all the crap is over for another year.
I keep meaning to buy an MP3 voice recorder to capture all the thoughts that swim in and out of conciousness like bright, darting fish. There one minute, lighting the murk up, then away, never to be seen again. A hundred blog kernels per day – gone. That novel that’s been hanging around my neck like a dead albatross since forever…
I’m not talking about an idea for a novel – just the vague, uneasy sense that I have one in me and that I should deliver it however painful the process because I’ll be regretful on my deathbed if I don’t…that’s a burden. A voice recorder is a first step – an easy one. Nowhere near as terrifing as tapping out a virgin sentence on the blank page of my self-doubt. But it’s a step I still don’t take…
So, you’re copping a blog of all-sorts.
Like, why do you fall asleep in front of the tv, then give into temptation before you go to bed and have a look at the computer… and instantly wake up? Which ends in you crawling into bed at 2.30am and waking up ratshit the next morning.
Like, why is the mainstream media reporting on Britney’s 16 year old sister being pregnant? Who knows Britney even has a sister? And so what if she’s 16 and pregnant? Are they trying to suggest that a slut gene runs in the family?
O de yo ho ho. Time to get out there and brave the smiley stuff and the piped carols and shop assistants wishing you a Merry Christmas. I suppose fake good cheer is better than none at all.