To use a trite and hackneyed phrase: The Silly Season Is Upon Us. Not sure if I'll be doing the Christmas party thing this year. This year has been a very draining one on several levels, especially emotionally owing to circumstances beyond my control that have my life in limbo, suffering like the souls of the unbaptised infants who are doomed to wait there until Judgement Day (assuming you believe in that twaddle). All I really want for Christmas is for the social stressors that have caused me, and those I love, much grief this year to be resolved. I feel they will be, but for fuck's sake: WHEN? This year has totally sucked dry the ball sack of a bull elephant in so many ways for me. Believe it or not, we are still experiencing the aftermath of the flood last Christmas, and that's mainly because I'm in a hiatus as to being able to actually do anything on a practical level at the moment.
So forgive me if I don't party as hard as I used to. I don't particularly want to. I'd rather have sedate drinkies with good friends and good company. The office party of yore, whereat someone would perform a strip tease (that someone being a paralytic solicitor with the physique of a freckled blancmange), or else barf like a demonically possessed adolescent first into the hippyastras and then over everyone else, no longer does it for me. I'm remembering some function from the mid-Eighties when one of the barristers, much older than me, and in modulated upper crust tones redolent of 1960s Knox Boys' Grammar, asked, 'Do you exercise regularly, Simone? I couldn't help but notice you have an exceedingly good figure.' Truly, it was like being hit on by Prince Charles. (But in fairness, I must compliment the bloke on his excellent eyesight!).
I have attended work functions under duress in the past, because nobody could afford to upset a particular person who wielded power there, that person having considerable sway and likely to be very offended by a boycott of the function. I recall sitting in the restaurant and glowering at the wall because I. Just. Did. Not. Want. To. Be. There, and the concept of having tabasco sauce dripped into my urethra held more appeal. Office politics totally suck arse.
In today's climate, the work Christmas party looks to be a dangerous breeding ground for sexual harassment claims, like a noxious dormant petri dish.
On the bright side, I've completed some of the Christmas shopping. If any store managers are reading this, can you please advise why you play 'Last Christmas' by Wham? It's such a pissy, tedious, dirge-like number. It's as annoying as being subjected to a constant tap dripping on the head. Come on, store managers, pick up your game; best Christmas song ever has to be 'Merry Christmas' by Slade. Nobody belts out a glam number like Noddy Holder, and that voice might sound like it's being dragged over shards of broken glass, but what a voice it is! Love his delivery in just about everything he sings.
Speaking of shopping, I was in the queue today, and heard a woman behind me rousing on her daughter: 'Lyric, get back here!' Yeah, you read that right. I'm pretty sure, unless I need to clean my ears, the kid's name was Lyric. I felt like pointing to the other children and asking, 'Are these Harmony and Melody, and is that adorable little Rhythm lying in the pram?'
Well, I've said my piece, the tone of which indicates I'm in a bit of a funk. All I really want for Christmas is for nothing awful to happen this year. That would be good, Santa. Was the flood last year a belated punishment for the time I left out a Sao biscuit with apricots squashed on it? (That was meant to look like a skull, if you didn't notice). The fact we're in a heatwave has me in a cross mood. A woman my age has enough hot flushes without atmospheric conditions adding to the misery. Also, today is the second anniversary of my father's death. Yesterday marked two years since I'd last spoken with him. Think about him every day, and miss him dreadfully today. Sometimes, when I'm preparing my lessons, I think: 'I wish I could tell you about this tutoring, Dad; you'd be so proud.' (The dire news from Naplan regarding literacy levels is a mixed blessing: sucks for the kids, but it's potential income for me as I've been moonlighting as an English tutor).
Anyway, if you're stuck for gift ideas, perhaps go to the links on my blog here and give the gift of books to someone. *cough - hint! - cough*
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