I'm the ex-girlfriend, the girl in the polaroid, the one in the play, the scar on your back, the crazy tattooed horse girl by the river, the englishfrenchwoman in New York who isn't Quentin and the car accident that keeps almost happening. Up for adoption, damaged but nicely packaged, no refunds.

Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Merry Xmas Ho

I haven't blogged in 4 months. Niet, nada. Not that I haven't had any gibberish to express, god knows I've been pretty vocal, way too much according to some (bully? you rip my freakin' heart out and I'M the bully???). But a lot of things have come to pass in the past 120 and some days. This christmas isn't the prelude to the end of another year, it's the nail being, not so gently, hammered into a coffin. Am leaving the old continent, again, to start from scratch, again, and in a weird way to come home. When you have moved around as much as I have, whether it be geographically, emotionally, transcendentally or whatever, the concept of home becomes extremely abstract. But home, some semblance, some hope of it, seems to be across the ocean, still after all these years.
So here I go again, as Whitesnake would say, sailing 'cross the ocean, sailing stormy waters, as Rod would add, crashing a-headlong into the heartland like a cannon in the rain as Mike Scott would conclude. And yes, I am having a musical cheesefest this xmas.

So stuff is going to happen now.
Uninteresting blog posts will be written.
New business will be launched.
New brilliantly evil plan to take over the world will be executed.
New friendships will be made, hopefully, and old friendships will be rekindled, double hopefully.
A French invasion of dogs and horses.
Red-headed trouble is coming to town.

So Merry Xmas, Hanukah, or whatever you choose to call this mushy time of year. I always wish I had some kind of faith around this time, and I still don't, but there is still one prayer that I believe in (just remove the religious and AA context and add water, or vodka).
 I wish Santa would give me the fucking tshirt.