Drulog

That is my new name for drunken blogging. Maybe it's already got a name. In which case feel free to tell me what it is.

I have been out for my work Christmas lunch. I was leading in the After Eights Wiggle game, at 18.9 seconds, but then Jackie beat me comfortably and I felt chastened until I remembered it meant she had to wear the Santa hat but it suited her really well anyway so I didn't feel happier for long.

What has been good is that I have been doing a lot of THINKING oh yes, that is obviously what I don't do enough of no but seriously, I have been thinking, because last night I was meant to go out with my ukulele posse, and I got home after work and I sat on the sofa and I was like, OK, I should go, this is the third night in a row that I've had plans, don't cancel these, and then I was like, but you don't HAVE to do anything. No one freaking CARES if you go, don't flatter yourself love. And I realised that something massive had shifted within me, and really, genuinely, I no longer feel like a failure. I do still feel sad about things. But feeling sad and not a failure is a million billion times better than feeling sad and feeling like it is totally your fault. So in some ways I feel way better than I used to. But undeniably I am still not feeling ideal. And I think the thing is, that I used to know what to do, because I had a mantra which was 'Do whatever would be most impressive to the people you want to impress' but now I know that, with the greatest respect, no one actually gives a FLYING FUCK what I do. So when your main motivation is taken away from you, you're left with just doing things because you actually want to do them, which may be, like, second nature to most of you, but for me it's totally new. So I was sitting on my sofa last night, thinking 'What do I actually WANT to do?' And there was a choice between sitting on the sofa, or going to play ukulele with my lovely ukey friends. And I sat there dithering and dithering more. I quite wanted to play festive music and socialise, I thought - but I also didn't want to get fat, and socialising equals boozing and possible mince pies. Plus I was genuinely tired. But for god's sake, Janey, I thought. It's Christmas. Stop being dull. Stand up. So I stood up and I got all dressed up - I put on a saucy black wool dress and high heels and did my make up and got my uke in its case and went and looked in the mirror one last time and thought that maybe I looked fat, and then I told myself off for being a superficial dickhead, and put my coat on, and then I felt tired and I sat on the sofa and then I thought 'God it would be nice to stay here tonight,' and so I did. I took my coat off, switched my fairy lights back on, breathed in a mince pie and stayed at home for the night.

And part of me thinks I was being really boring, but then since NO ONE CARES it doesn't matter, does it. And I think it's just going to take me a while to realise that I don't have to impress anyone ever again and that my existence is justified by the fact that I exist, and that is IT. I don't have to do anything else. I CAN do other things. But I don't HAVE to. It's liberating, honestly. And yes, it is all ridiculous.

I'm getting there, team. Big festive hugs from Me, while wearing velour, from the cushion-filled sofa, with O Come All Ye Faithful playing, written in the glow of fairy lights, knowing that there's a prescription for more drugs waiting for me at the doctor's. Mwah.