So, that whole regular blogging thing wasn't a rip-roaring success, eh?
I return with my metaphorical tail between my legs not in the spirit of 'New Year, new me' - that my return is on the first month of the year is purely coincidental. And we like when lists start at the beginning, and we collectively treat January like a beginning, right?
Slow down rambly lady
If I do nothing else on this blog this year, I want to check in every month and state where I'm at. I don't mean geographically, I mean where I feel like I am on the great map of LIFE.
I am currently at home, enjoying the final twinkling of the Christmas tree before it gets shoved back in its box tomorrow. I have a coffee at hand, and I recently acquired one of those filter teapots so I now drink loose leaf and I feel like a wild thing.
I am married now. Two weeks in and perhaps it hasn't sunk in, or perhaps that nothing has really changed is the beauty of it. I am procrastinating about filling out forms and making phone calls because those things are boring and not nearly as pleasant as rewatching our wedding video and staring at my ring.
This month is beginning with a week of frantic essay writing in order to complete my first semester modules (one on Irish Literature, one on BBC period dramas/their novels.) I enjoy writing essays but with these two it seems I just keep building ideas on ideas on ideas and it reminds me of when I'd draw trees as a child and branches would lead to smaller branches and smaller branches and eventually twigs and then smaller twigs before a squiggly flower would finally appear at the very edge of the page. I am searching for the sweet smelling flowers of my essays and I am hopeful they will come.
When essays are done, we take a flying visit to Krakow, Poland. Those who have known me (or known my internet presence) for a few years will know that I've been there before. It remains one of my favourite cities and I cannot wait to return.
I'll finish off the month by spending some time in London, where I hope to see friends before the terror of my final semester of university kicks off.
I am flitting between job sites for crappy retail jobs, and those that tempt me towards trying to make a go of freelance writing as a steady income. I scoff at the words 'this is an unpaid position' now, and I feel that means I have really aged. I want to write a lot this year, perhaps find some sort of niche because do you know how easy it would be to write for money if I knew a lot about gardening or the economy? I've become a lot more nonchalant about sharing things I've written, and I think that too means I have aged. Sometimes being self-conscious is a luxury that I cannot afford.
When I'm not buried in literary criticism, I've been reading Flann O'Brien's The Third Policeman and Richard Ayoade's Ayoade on Ayoade. Both are as strange as each other. I like to think the two men would be friends, in another life.
A song that's in my head right now is Punching in a Dream by The Naked And Famous. One of those songs that I always think is a happy one and then I listen closely and oh, no.
The last film I watched was The Theory of Everything starring Eddie Redmayne as Stephen Hawking. It was so beautiful and I had a lump in my throat for about half the movie because it's just so painfully sad. However, lately, I've become really anxious about these 'historical' movies (The Imitation Game comes to mind) that centre around a specific person. I know they're not documentaries and can do what they want with facts but I remain a little deflated that these wondrous people didn't really say these beautiful things.
Yours, with patience,