Dear Future Leslee,
Looks like I once again have to come craawwwling back with spurious apologies and promises I don’t intend to keep. I’m sorry I’ve been away so long, but this has been both the weirdest and most stressful Christmas in the history of Christmases, including the first one. What’s that, Mary, couldn’t find an inn? Here’s a quarter: call someone who cares. Some of us have real problems.
Firstly, the Mancandy and I have ended our oh-so-sweet alliance. I generally hate blogs about people’s “real lives” because for the most part people are boring but since this is mostly read by people who know all about my lame day-to-day existence anyway I guess I’ll bite the bullet and go into some personal detail. The breakup was amicable. (Sparking a two-week long debate about how to pronounce the word ‘amicable’). We are still friends and will doubtlessly be close for years to come. Feelings are on the whole pleasant, if moderately depressed. So, all in all, successful.
Approximately 26 hours after the Man and I went “facebook public” with our breakup (I’m sure that phrase means nothing to you, Future Me, and for that I am grateful) I had found a new place to live. I have a huge bedroom in a nice townhouse approximately ten minutes down the street from my old place and have also taken on my Sopie as a roommate. Rent is dirt cheap, and other roommate has dogs, so I’m pretty much satisfied. I still need to finish unpacking, but otherwise I can’t complain.
Work has been fucking loopy as a rollercoaster, to say the least. After running the clinic more or less alone for two weeks, I have learned two very important things: 1. I don’t want to work at the clinic, and 2. See point 1. Although I will miss the Beckster (also known as Co-Clerk Extraordinaire) I will not miss pregnant ladies. Now I’ve been saying “I hate pregnant women” quite a bit lately, mostly for the laughs it generates, but after two weeks alone in that clinic there is also a tiny, rageful grain of truth in there. And I feel kind of bad. (Not really).
Christmas and New Years were enjoyable, as holidays tend to be, particularly the later as I didn’t have to spend it with my family. Not that I don’t dig my fam-jam, but the fact is that I love them best from afar, and they are not conducive to de-stressing. I spent Christmas Day blessedly alone in a friend’s empty apartment and it was fucking amazing. The general consensus among my hip, twenty-something friend group is that next year we’re going to celebrate Christmas with each other in Cuba and avoid the whole familial round-up all together.
Future Me, if you’re looking back and remembering that my friend group wasn’t all that hip, shut up shut up shut up. We’re still going to spend Christmas together. Maybe.
So, I’m looking at a new year in a new house with new possibilities. One of the reasons for our breakup (besides pirates) was that I wanted to go out there and explore life! Meet new people! Have adventures! Surpass my limits! Face exciting challenges! and now I actually have to sit down and find something interesting to do that might spark some personal growth. Part of me is worried I’ll spend the next year in my pjs eating ice cream and watching Dallas reruns, so if you can think of anything good for me to do, please let me know.
Anyway, Future Me, I’m going to go downstairs and see if the roommates dogs are killing each other, because that is certainly what it sounds like. I’m also going to make some tea, although it occurs to me that I have yet to find a kettle in this place so tea-making might prove awkward.
Much love for many happy returns,