Late night whimsy

It's midnight. Wide awake and thinking.
Still ruminating on the transformation thing.
I realise this is a current bugbear, a bee in my beret, a splinter in the big toe of my life. I believe I have become a little complacent about certain things, become a bit of a hermit this last year.
Change is required but what?

How about a list then.

-spontaneity
-whimsy
-fancy

Well, yes those three are obvious.

-fun
-frippery
-frolicsome things

Those too.

-moonlight and stargazing.

Now we're getting somewhere.

-music: where ya been?

oh yeah. live.

-wining
-dining . . . . .

-love

Someone light a cigar I think she's got it.
Well whaddya know. That old nugget.

Who'da guessed?

Listing

Having just read through the last few posts, I feel a burst of happy-go-lucky is required.
Let's see.
(a list)

1. My tax refund enters my bank account on friday - woohoo!

2. I am in a position to replace my current car with something more a. comfortable, b. reliable, c. economical.

3. Change is something that can be relied upon.

4. I'm waiting on news which could be very good.

5. Results for my dissertation have arrived and could not be better.

6. After a character-building year, my character is an edifice.

7. Plans are afoot for a day at the spa.


There, that feels better.
Call me Pollyanna.

Quiet desperation

I am in need of a change. A big one.

In lieu of a holiday that is. Apparently it's as good as.

I am being rendered uninteresting by the immense structure of my days.

My strategy, you see, for motherhood, until now, has been routines, routines, routines. This was a necessary adjustment from my previous life as a fancy-free, responsibility-phobic night owl musician. The pendulum has swung entirely the other way, and seems to be stuck.

I have now become an early riser whose day is charted weeks before it dawns.

Holy sh*t, you can see my problem.

Where is the middle ground?

I have always been a touch extreme, I admit.

New year's resolutions are thus formulating.

Dreaming of a . . .

I confess to an inner humbug when it comes to Christmas. Back in the fargone glory days of childfree wandering, I tended to ignore this celebration if I could, usually working on the day (music) thereby ensuring a provided lunch, money in the pocket, and another Christmas side-stepped. I don't know what it is - well I do, but I won't go into it here. Suffice to say, it's not my favourite time of year.

Now with an eight year old child, the humbug is kept on a tight leash as I do my best to make her experience magical. And despite myself, I have, in the last few years, quite enjoyed it too. Wonders never ceasing etc.

Last night we put up the tree and decorated, and then had the switching on of the lights which we toasted with lime sodas clinking with loads of ice. And it occurred to me that what I'd REALLY like is a white Christmas.
Next year.

My father now lives in Europe. Don't know why I didn't think of it before.
Now there's something that would wipe the smirk off this humbug's face.