2011 was a really hellish year. I limped hysterical, battered and bruised towards 2012, needy, with arms wide open, desperate to get away from the deaths, disappointments and devastation of 2011. I prayed and hoped 2012 would be a better year. And it was. All thanks, no doubt, to my particularly fervent and pious prayers (I’m the best at those).
Now, I wouldn’t say I am running arms wide open into 2013, but at least I could run if I wanted to. This year has had its fair share of difficulties, but I enter the new year with some anticipation rather than desperation. My world seems to have shrunk a little – the withdrawal from social media has had a surprising real-life impact.
And so I kiss goodbye to my twenties and tentatively take one step closer to the grave (as my granddad would cheerfully announce each birthday). I won’t know what to make of these years until I can get some proper distance from them. One of my older friends says that her life took a significant turning point at the swing of each new decade. I don’t have a lot of decades to go on, but so far something about that rings true.
I don’t have any summing up done. I’m not compiling the list of favourite movies, books and music from 2012. I’m not making a list of goals. I just want to survive 2013 intact, with a few close friends attached, and not fall apart because I have to get up at 5.45am every day and work, commute and study 65 hours a week.
Yesterday the husband unit and I dived into a project operated with military precision to cook 20 nights’ dinners for 2 people. Over five hours we chopped, stirred and simmered until we had dishes of soup, thai green curry, biriyani, chilli and meatballs coming out of our ears. I guarantee you, we cooled, decanted, labelled and froze more pre-prepared food than God himself (not a guarantee). We are doing everything we can think of to make the first couple of months of 2013 as smooth as possible. While I’ll be crapping myself over a demanding new job and yet another motherfucking thesis, he’ll be crapping himself over final year exams. Feast your eyes on these mismatching boxes of foil and tupperware glory, my friends, complete with instructions for adults blind with exhaustion. (Thank you to those of you who donated your old Chinese takeaway boxes. You know who you are.)
When we were finished, we smelled very strongly of food and a full-scale hose-down was required. This morning to our disgust, the mingled odours of curry, Mexican taco beef and boeuf bourguignon greeted our slightly hungover noses. A veritable rainbow of multicultural food stench!
However, the days are fast approaching when I will applaud my own extravagant foresightedness. Bravo chip monk! I imagine I will shout of a rainy Tuesday evening when I get in at 10pm and feck a plastic box in the microwave.
Oh the future. Who’d have it, eh?