I can feel the fog descending, curling round the outer edges of consciousness and fuzzing up my throat and nose. I will shortly be a pariah in the office, my germs warded off with sideways glances and furious rinsing of mugs.
Ha, I just opened the last post to discover it was all about being sick. Well, lest this blog devolve into an extended examination of my inner workings, let me report on all the other news in A-town:
My sister K: took her to a play last night (Once on Chunuk Bair, Auckland Theatre Company at the Maidment, v. good) and enjoyed her company over dinner first. She had a skirt in a gorgeous stiff black + white floral fabric that I coveted. That's not really news, per se, but there it is.
Mum: allegedly announced to sister K that she's now ready to be a grandmother. Has also been considering surrogacy options for me, in case I'm too busy to procreate for myself. Mum surely told K this in the knowledge it would be communicated to me (K being presently single meaning that she's not the prime child-bearing target). Dear old Mum, she doesn't want to ask me directly what my plans are because she rightly knows I'll be prickly about it. She's been giving me plenty of opportunities to raise children in conversation; I'm SUCH a disappointment.
Dad: not much to report. I'm loving phone conversations with him at the moment. He works so actively at holding a conversation about the news and what's going on and asking the right questions -- who doesn't love that? About the time I left home, Dad became very intentional in telling us he loves and is proud of us. Maybe I didn't notice it before I left, maybe it was triggered by our departures, I'm not sure. We've never been an emotionally transparent family and I just adore that Dad is intentional now about that stuff - it takes effort and I really appreciate it. Though, of course, I should be more reciprocal.
P: lovely, as usual. Except for the other morning when everything he uttered annoyed me so deeply I contemplated telling him to just shut up and not bother talking to me again until we left for work. Good thing I didn't, as on reflection the problem may (MAY!) have been me and waking up on the wrong side of the bed.
Work: have been promoted. Am fairly sure that they will soon discover all apparent abilities are a sham -- but have managed to wriggle up another step on the ladder for better or worse. Am bizarrely ambivalent about it for a girl who has tended to measure her worth in external achievement standards.
Friends: neglected. Must do something about that. J is in NZ this week and I'm taking my birthday leave on Friday to see her. I think we'll go to a wild and wintry beach for a walk to feel properly Kiwi. I'll feel envious of her return to London on Sunday as I've been having pangs recently. It's been a while since we escaped Auckland last, so perhaps I'm feeling a little cabin-feverish?
Ha, on re-reading the above, it struck me -- have you read the Ed Champion rant about Middling Millenials? I'm not going to link to it because ELEVEN THOUSAND WORDS and much of his point re Emily Gould is subsumed in vitriol and a smattering of misogyny, valid as it might otherwise be. ALSO, good grief, I could certainly be accused of some Middling Millenial behaviour. Of course, any literary pretensions I may have reside firmly inside my own head and only occasionally spill into this badly-edited and irretrievably awful personal blog, so if Middling Millenial refers only to those who are seeking fame off the creation of subpar art, I certainly don't count. But, if the occasional reference to the Pink Power Ranger by a 32 year old woman in an online journal strikes you as vapid, lazy and disengaged, well bully for you but I care not. Well, I care a little bit, I'm human aren't I?
Time to cut it off, given I'm making no sense whatsoever. I bet you I read this in less than a month's time and cringe, but isn't that what a blog's for?