This past month has not been good. My adjustment in going from one thing to another has been so much … Continue reading Push
I’ve done something I haven’t for a very long time this January and I’m not proud of it. I mean … Continue reading Big Bother
I’ve found myself with an impromptu afternoon off thanks to the kindness of work, who released us back into the wild at 2pm today.
I can’t lie, I was moving stacks of unimportant paper from one side of my desk to the other in a bid to look busy and hadn’t the strength to complete a whole day of faux-productivity.
So, here I am in front of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, back in pajamas with some unexpected time on my hands. I did pick up Lena for a wee while but she wasn’t quite doing it for me.
So blogging it is. It’s a few days before the new year rings in and I’m feeling okay about that. Naturally, this late in proceedings it is typical to be reflective.
Usually to have a ponderous scratch of the head and review what you didn’t manage to achieve despite all good intention; more likely to set up the next in-depth list of goals for the fresh snowy carpet of the new year ahead.
I will probably do that before the witching hour comes on the 31st but not yet. I must have a good think about what I really want to put myself through first.
Instead, I will tell you about the Christmas present I bought myself. The calm before the storm seems a good time to mention it.
I bought myself a name. And with this new name, comes great responsibility.
When I was born, my mother didn’t name me for three weeks. She rolls this anecdote out on the reg and I can’t decide if I think it’s a bit upsetting, or that it’s the coolest thing ever. I am leaning toward the latter. She maintains that they were waiting for my personality to manifest itself before they labelled me forever with a moniker that didn’t fit.
I almost had a name that puts me in mind of a Russian spy, and again I can’t be sure how I feel about that. Perhaps by not having the name Natasha, my career with MI5 was snipped even before it began.
It took me a long time to come to terms with my name. It’s just unusual enough to be messed up all the time by anyone using it. I am constantly referred to as ‘Christine’, ‘Chrissy’, ‘Christina’ – even ‘Christopher’. It seems now that I have spent most of my life ‘coming to terms’ with my name, my hair, my body.
I’m so sick. Again. Just as I was weaning myself off liquid centered throat sweets (cherry, natch), I caught another … Continue reading Sad Happy
Or How I Learned to Love My Curves and Respect the Bum: Halloween Edition* There was a time when I … Continue reading Hallow-Hell-Yes!
Before the madness of Blogging 201 kicks off on Monday (yes, I’ve decided to keep going), I thought I’d record … Continue reading The Secret
I didn’t do yesterday’s 101 challenge because I couldn’t find anything that really got me excited. This may have been … Continue reading Ten