I am ready for the Christmas break.
I feel like I need to sleep for a week. Bearing in mind I’ve spent the best part of this year in pyjamas, this seems strange. I’ve become obsessed with pjs. The only clothing I’m interested in is pyjamas, the only thing I am vaguely stoked to look for in the sales in the new year is pyjamas. Oh, and maybe trainers. Can’t get enough pyjamas. New pyjamas are my new (jim) jam. I may never wear anything else again. Pyjamas, pyjamas, pyjamas. And trainers.
I think I’m borderline hysterical…
December began with a few lovely things coming in the post including cards and a bottle of the Christmas staple, Bailey’s. Thanks, bro. They’re all under the tree; except the Bailey’s, obvs. That’s been routinely ingested in its base form, in coffee, hot chocolate, on ice cream and cornflakes. That’s okay, right? Because: Christmas. I may not be going to the U.K. this year for the holidays, but there are some Brit traditions I’ll be absolutely maintaining – the snacking and the boozing. Chocolate peanuts for breakfast anyone? I’ll be honest, I am quite surprised (proud) I haven’t ripped into the presents, given I lasted to only the 9th December in the advent calendar. I’d like to say, ‘See Santa, I am a good girl!’, but the Christmas dessert drink I poured in my afternoon coffee on my break before the last class on Friday put paid to that.
December also began with a couple of non-dates and being featured on the marvellously funny Don’t Take Bullsh*t from F*ckers podcast, which was recommended to me recently by a friend. I wrote in about my Facebook vigilante date after they requested weird first date stories and there it was, the next week. And the next. And the one after that, when they asked me to phone in with more details after I told them, ‘…the vigilante story is just the tip of that date iceberg’. They really got a hold of it. Let me tell you though, chaps, this one date is just the tip of my whole dating iceberg. I was delighted they thought it was worthy of inclusion.
The fruitless dating has contributed to my fatigue for sure. In my intensive search for someone to hug, the emotional investment of the monotony of the first date hamster wheel is immeasurable and I’m tired. Damn you all the way to hell Covid, for making me crave human contact after a year of not dating. I could write a book just about my first dates that would rival War and Peace. If you laid all my first dates end to end they’d circle a fully formed relationship 100 times. I used to think that if you threw enough shit, some of it would eventually stick, but it turns out that if my life was actually backed up behind a fatberg, there still wouldn’t be enough of it to find a decent, compatible human. When does a first date become a second? I mean that’s what gets me excited. Not imagining a future together, just the idea of seeing the same cool person one other time. And, if dreams really do come true, once more after that. Simply one foot in front of the other. That’s a challenge in itself. Can you even imagine? Meeting someone worthy of a second date, who also wants to see you too, is as rare as rocking horse shit.
Quite a poo-heavy post, isn’t it? Apologies.
And the only guy I really clicked with, the funny, interesting one did some weird freak out shit and disappeared, after telling me we needed to curb our enthusiasm. What the hell is that?! I mean, WHY? I haven’t been enthusiastic about anyone since 1913, let me have this moment. And remember the unit with cute crow’s feet? Don’t worry if not, there have been a lot of men and nicknames, to be fair. Well, he text to say he wanted to chat. You know, the one who said he’d be in touch if his tempestuous relationship definitively ended? Well, he called to propose that we just hook up for sex while he maintained his on-off relationship. I mean, it was hard to resist, you know? But refuse is what I did, like this, ‘yeah, I can’t meet you tomorrow as I’m busy doing nothing and enjoying my own company’.
So, Christmas Eve I’m off to my friend’s for dinner with two other friends, well within the six maximum, home just after midnight before I turn into a pumpkin and the temporarily extended Christmas Eve curfew kicks in, wake up Christmas morning, Zoom the shit outta the day, cook a trad British Christmas lunch for me and my furry buddy and fall asleep in front of a Christmas movie. Then it’s a traditional local cannelloni dish on the 26th with the leftovers. I’m fully embracing what I’ve got to work with, and I’m actually really looking forward to it.
Under the circumstances, it’s not all bad…