Groundhog Day

I have a big issue dealing with reality. This is in no part helped along by the fact that I have a very vivid imagination. One that runs wild constantly. Everything in my life has to be done as part of an adventure, or to move the story along, or allows me to take the starring role in the film of my life (more and more I find myself framing the shots, deciding on the camera angles, thinking about what the titles will look like, and working out the soundtrack. Which is worrying to say the least). I’m starting to get the sense that this kind of approach to life may cushion things that I don’t really want to deal with but is perhaps PERHAPS a touch counter-productive. This all became clear at the weekend when it finally dawned on me that fantasyland may be safe and pretty but, in the end, spending all my time there is not really beneficial to anyone – least of all myself.

This has kind of meant that for the last few days I’ve felt utterly lost, I now recognise that that feeling had been simmering for a while but events of the weekend brought it all to the surface. Some expectations I’d had about my future life were cruelly dashed and although I’m quite happy with what now exists in place of those girlish fantasies, it still takes a while for your thinking to readjust and for you to reach a point of equilibrium once more. So yes, although I recognise what just happened was not the motivating factor in my newly reacquired quarterlife crisis, it has lead me to face up to the fact that I just don’t know where I’m going. For one thing I’m seriously behind on all the things I laid out on ‘The List’. The list for me was a document that provoked a feeling that I imagine religious types get from the Torah, or the Qur'an, or the Bible, or Gemma Atkinson gets from Heat magazine. I had complete faith in what was expressed upon its pages. All I needed to do to find myself in a happy and fulfilling life was to follow the guidance therein. And then? And then, December appeared. Seemingly from out of nowhere. It creeped up behind me and tapped me on the left shoulder before moving very quickly to the right so that when I turned around I didn’t see who was trying to get my attention. It then of course couldn’t hide its mirth any longer and made itself known whilst bent double and wiping tears of laughter from its eyes. I just stood there raising an eyebrow and looking a bit unimpressed. It knows I have rage blackouts. Why’s it gots to play me like that? But still, we moved on, went for a drink and then found ourselves in the pub pretty much constantly from that moment on. Every time I made a move to go my favourite song would come on the jukebox, or December would kindly offer me another round, or a group of other people that December knew would come along and we’d end up having philosophical discussions about validity of Gene Hunt et al being brought back for Ashes to Ashes and whether Britney deserved to keep her kids. The important things you know?

Basically I was firmly ensconced in Socialbutterflytown with no hope of escape. However, it was all justifiable as I knew that when New Years was done with I could return to my compound. My deliciously safe compound where I get to be left alone and focus on the important things in life – me and me. But then January decided it was time to shake loose a little. It had spent too much of the past being all stuffy and uptight and just needed to go with the flow man. Thus, as December bid me adieu, tipped his hat and left in a cloud of smoke and intrigue so came along January bouncing up and down and asking if I wanted to do tequilia shots. Err… no January. You and I have a very specific routine wherein you neither force me to talk, nor leave the house unless I run out of food or alcohol. But it insisted; ‘Oh come on, I thought you were cool??’ Ahh, my one weakness: attacks on my ‘21st Century-Fonzy’ crown (in fact, I jest, but the last time that was uttered seriously it did in fact work and I let an ex smoke in my bedroom even though my mum expressly forbids it. I was a little younger than now but by no means young enough that you could explain it away as youthful naivety. So basically yeah, I’m lame). So I stayed out with January who was looking a little dishevelled and obviously needed to just go home and rest but was insistent that He could handle the party lifestyle. I tried reason, I tried shouting, I tried throwing something shiny out of the window in the hope of getting enough distraction time to make my escape. All to no avail. January would not let me rest. We were going to party and we were going to do it right. Having an inability to say no and a tendency towards going with the flow meant I eventually just shrugged and went with it. February would sort me out I reasoned, and in the meantime it meant I got to flex my hostess skills. I increased my meal repertoire for guests from one dish to about five. I got to replenish people’s drinks, teach people how to Guitar Hero, arrange taxi’s, collect people from train stations, make sure people had clean bed linen, all those little things that make the difference between going to someone’s house and being a guest in someone’s house (in my mind’s eye I do all these things whilst adorned in a hoop skirt, retro cardi, and a gingham pinny with my hair in a ‘up-do’ ala Doris Day but I think that may be the over-active imagination coming in to play again). This is normally the stuff that ‘me’ runs scared from ‘cos it’s like, responsible and sociable. These are not words that I use in conjunction to myself. But I enjoyed it. Plus I knew February would be here soon. God bless dependable February. February has been around the block a few too many times and is far too world-weary for any kind of shenanigans. February just wants you to SHUT UP! Jeez! Sit down. There. That’s better right? Cup of tea? Yeah? Ok good. Now let’s just be quiet and rest ok? February’s got a headache and just needs you to shush.

This is what I was guaranteed. I felt sure of it. Ok, January made me a month behind on ‘The List’ but AS SOON as February got here I knew I’d be able to start getting things done again. However, we’re now a week into February and time keeps drip, drip, dripping away. I’m too tired (slash emotionally exhausted from aforementioned weekend japes) to do anything useful with my time. Monday PERSISTS on turning into Tuesday which is ADAMENT it wants to become Wednesday and so on and so forth. All the while I have books left unread, stories left unwritten, and correspondence unreturned. I need some way of pulling time up a bit. If the universe could just give me a week on pause I know I could get some pretty darn good catch up sessions going. As it is I get home from work, eat dinner, watch a Come Dine With Me and then all of a sudden wake up the next morning to find myself repeating the whole process again. It’s Groundhog Day but I’m not learning the piano or buying insurance from Kirstin’s dad out of Heroes or finding increasingly amusing ways to commit suicide. I’m just letting that time keep dripping. If anyone knows a good ‘time plumber’ I’d be truly grateful. But maybe this is where I need to stop wishing for a fix and just… you know, do what I gotta do. Can I be that girl? Watch this space. [Not literally].