Btw, I did a podcast this winter. It focuses on made-for-TV Christmas movies. I know, niche. But both seasons are two of my favourite outputs of the past 18 months. Soothing, cosy, a balm. Catch up here.
A lot of people are congratulating themselves and others for getting through 2018 and that is all fine, but I like looking forward. In my opinion, there is only so much that’s safe to pick from a cooked bird carcass the days after its oven sojourn. Sorry to go off the Year of Sustainability message, but dump the leftovers days ago! The fridge is not a compost bin.
I’m not aroused by fresh annual diaries, but I appreciate a new start. And as someone who didn’t enjoy this year, I’m approaching this one with calm and selfishness.
I’m going to take fewer coffee meetings with strangers. Can’t stand the concept, rarely enjoy the enterprise. Don’t even drink the black bean juice because it’s bad for my breasts. Find paying an extortionate amount for a bag of leaves in hot water a bit much.
I might swerve away from new hobbies. I booked a pottery class for next week but that was while I was waiting for the box dye my mother applied to process through my hair. Anything bought during a waiting time window is a non compos mentis purchase. Don’t worry, there will not be an Etsy shop forthcoming. I’ll probably make an ash tray, the famine road of modern knick knacks.
Instead, I’m going to pour my energy – that which remains after work and other BS – into what I know I want to do. There are two or three things which need uprooting and chopping. I want to ban terming my goals ‘projects’.
Oh, and I need to finish my part-time masters. I will say this about going back to education around the 30 year age mark: google Saturn Return first and then ask yourself ‘what is the truth?’
As I prepare for the Gregorian calendar reboot, I will share a true-life story from which we can all learn.
My little sister travels through airport terminals with a small bag of clean make-up brushes. This is so she can do her face before getting on the plane with tools she knows she can rely on. The shop girls never approach her, because she has made her intentions clear. Which is: fuck off, I’m not buying a palette of rust spectrum eyeshadow, I’m just trying to get to somewhere else while looking like my blood flows. Later, at the bar near our boarding gate, she told me that when the airline attendant asks can they add your carry on to the hold you say sure and let them add the yellow sticker. Once you’re beyond the gate and before you meet the guy who will take the bag away, rip the sticker off. It is as if no one recommended you do anything. Airports are the school of life.
Another btw, I do more newsletters during the year which paying subscribers access. You can sign up here and read about subletting in a few days time, and access the archives. Some of it is decent enough, and the notification you paid gives me a thrill.