So. It has been a funny old month. While the good bits have far outweighed the bad, both become invisible when placed beside my rampant stupidity, demonstrated to beautiful effect yesterday when I managed to lock myself out of my house in Sheffield, with all of my belongings still in it. Seriously, I should not be at university. I shouldn't even be human- I ought to be back in the primordial ooze of pre-history, where my yet undeveloped nervous system would hopefully prevent me causing myself or others any harm. Forced to return to the South without any luggage at all, I am now lounging around my parents' house wearing innappropriate Summer clothing, hacking up my lungs every few minutes, and freely issuing snot from my red and blotchy nose. Oh, not to mention the fact that I scalded my head the other day (an attempt at washing my hair over the kitchen sink went horribly awry), so clods of ruined scalp are falling around my shoulders in the manner of extreme dandruff. I am an extremely attractive prospect right now, lads. Come and get me.
It's strange being home again. The past couple months have been the longest time I've spent away from home, as my brief family visit last month saw me staying at my brother's house rather than here. Things have changed. There is a new, colossal TV, a new computer with a colossal monitor, and (most excitingly?) a new, colossal washing machine with 2 handwash programs and the ability to take on 8kg loads. I find myself using plates and cups with wild abandon, no longer having to worry about dirty dishes multiplying across the sideboard and kitchen table. My jaw dropped as I opened the fridge and found enough food to feed a small African nation, used as I am to opening our fridge in Sheffield to find only a half-empty jar of out-of-date mayonnaise and a couple cans of Strongbow. My gay revelry under the high-pressure showerhead was short-lived, as I remembered that we have no heroic boiler here, rather a half-arsed hot water tank that likes to run out when least expected. It's all most peculiar. I feel as though I have fallen asleep in one world, and woken up in another where everything is slightly different; while the major points remain the same, the little things have changed, and those are what keep me grounded. I don't know. Could simply be that all the damned snot in my head is messing up my perception of the outside world.
I have been commissioned to decorate the Christmas tree now, so while I could confusedly ramble on for quite some time, I must locate the box of faded tinsel and baubles. I may return to this later.
...
OK. I am back. The most outrageous injustice has occurred. I'm downstairs, adorning the Christmas tree with sparkly wonders, when I notice that half of the decorations seem to be missing. Where are the magenta teardrops? Or the loveably shit things my brother and I made in nursery? Most importantly,
where is the tinsel?? I demand these answers from my mother (who, by the way, just sent a British Red Cross charity worker on his way on the grounds of being 'too busy', before having a kip on the sofa), who replies nonchanantly that she threw out all of those things for being in too poor condition.
I'm sorry. What?? That was MY fucking tinsel!! I spent my own money on that crap! And this was years and years ago, before I had my own earnings/a student loan to fritter away, so money spent then was a lot more valuable than money spent now... I can't believe it's all gone. That's it, Christmas is RUINED.
(On a positive note, she said that the music I had on (Cocteau Twins- Victorialand) was pretty. So now I'm thinking, if I can get her into the ambient dream pop, I can move her on to the harder stuff; give me a few years and I'll have her rocking out at the front, ears bleeding, next time MBV decide to do the rounds.)
It's a shame really, as Christmas looked like it might actually be quite good this year. In times past, Christmas Day would see the whole of my father's side of the family converging on the household of one particular aunt, for an orgy of food and toys and presents. However, this family celebration then got moved back to Boxing Day- meaning Christmas Day became a rather sad, subdued affair spent here with just my parents, getting frustrated with the bad festive films on the telly, and trying my hardest to block out the sounds of my mother's sobs as her Christmas goose was not cooked to perfection. Last year there wasn't even a Boxing Day gathering to compensate for the rubbish day preceding it, as both aunts had recently moved house and neither was willing to host a pack of ravenous relatives. But this year, actual Christmas Day will be spent at my Aunt's new home in Norfolk, so things would have been OK. Great, even. But not any more.
Oh, my poor tinsel.
