New Year and Me
Christmas round my brother's house saw my sister-in-law, Annie, absolutely triumph as a domestic goddess. Turkey, proper roasties, spicy cranberry and bread sauces, salmon en croute, parmesan parsnips... mmmmmmmmm!
We both got cookery books for presents, but rather tellingly mine had nice clear colour step-by-step photos and the ones she got were full of science, theory and minimal illustration. We all know she's brilliant, a proper master at all things bakey and cakey. If I had that talent I'd take it to competitions and win stuff... but I know trying to win stuff is not everybody's cup of tea.
My perspective on life is a bit skewed right now as I keep asking myself what's important. What do I want to do? I can't quite relax into just 'being'. Sometimes I think it's about comedy, or poetry. Sometimes it's about having a tidy house or having made some nice bread. Sometimes it's about getting more than five questions right on Universally Challenged. What exactly am I trying to prove to myself? Who for?
I'm missing my mom in so many ways. I miss telling her about all the little triumphs of my life. To be honest, she probably preferred to hear the stuff I was moaning about, family gossip, what I'd had for tea etc. because she'd never really remember much, though she did like to hear about my friends:
"Now, you said you were with Ian. Which one? Is it him what wrote that Ay One?" (She'd mean Ian Watson, who wrote the screen story for the film AI)
But it's true I've done so much less I could crow about lately. I just haven't had the heart.
New Year's Eve is almost upon us. It brings an end I do not want. It brings a beginning I want just as little. All time does is move away and towards a single vanishing point: the time I was most happy. I can't say when that might have been. All I know is, in this universe, that time is behind me now.
There will be time when this hurts a little less, and other moments when I will be so happy, but because I won't be able to call my mom and tell her about them, I am not sure I'll feel the emotion so keenly.
So many people I know have been through this and are currently at varying distances from their own vanishing point. When we count down to the chimes, I will be thinking of them also: their brave smiles, their triumphs in the face of their own grief.
So, mom, if you could read this, I'd tell you I'm never giving up. I want you to be proud of me. I'm carrying on with the poetry that you loved. Also, the comedy you got petrified about on my behalf, but you don't have to worry about me. It's my art, and I'll do it on my terms. For cool people.
Oh, and I'm getting good at making stuff. Just two of this year's Christmas presents made by me:
See - who wouldn't want that sweet piece of soft Merino cable loveliness?
Oh, and I have a book coming out next year. It's called Vicious Circle. You'd have loved it - no vampires or spaceships!
Next year, Mom, I'm going to write more, be more of a home bod. I'm going to spend more time with my family in Northampton, and help my family in the Black Country as much as I can. These are resolutions I can keep.
We both got cookery books for presents, but rather tellingly mine had nice clear colour step-by-step photos and the ones she got were full of science, theory and minimal illustration. We all know she's brilliant, a proper master at all things bakey and cakey. If I had that talent I'd take it to competitions and win stuff... but I know trying to win stuff is not everybody's cup of tea.
My perspective on life is a bit skewed right now as I keep asking myself what's important. What do I want to do? I can't quite relax into just 'being'. Sometimes I think it's about comedy, or poetry. Sometimes it's about having a tidy house or having made some nice bread. Sometimes it's about getting more than five questions right on Universally Challenged. What exactly am I trying to prove to myself? Who for?
I'm missing my mom in so many ways. I miss telling her about all the little triumphs of my life. To be honest, she probably preferred to hear the stuff I was moaning about, family gossip, what I'd had for tea etc. because she'd never really remember much, though she did like to hear about my friends:
"Now, you said you were with Ian. Which one? Is it him what wrote that Ay One?" (She'd mean Ian Watson, who wrote the screen story for the film AI)
But it's true I've done so much less I could crow about lately. I just haven't had the heart.
New Year's Eve is almost upon us. It brings an end I do not want. It brings a beginning I want just as little. All time does is move away and towards a single vanishing point: the time I was most happy. I can't say when that might have been. All I know is, in this universe, that time is behind me now.
There will be time when this hurts a little less, and other moments when I will be so happy, but because I won't be able to call my mom and tell her about them, I am not sure I'll feel the emotion so keenly.
So many people I know have been through this and are currently at varying distances from their own vanishing point. When we count down to the chimes, I will be thinking of them also: their brave smiles, their triumphs in the face of their own grief.
So, mom, if you could read this, I'd tell you I'm never giving up. I want you to be proud of me. I'm carrying on with the poetry that you loved. Also, the comedy you got petrified about on my behalf, but you don't have to worry about me. It's my art, and I'll do it on my terms. For cool people.
Oh, and I'm getting good at making stuff. Just two of this year's Christmas presents made by me:
See - who wouldn't want that sweet piece of soft Merino cable loveliness?
Oh, and I have a book coming out next year. It's called Vicious Circle. You'd have loved it - no vampires or spaceships!
Next year, Mom, I'm going to write more, be more of a home bod. I'm going to spend more time with my family in Northampton, and help my family in the Black Country as much as I can. These are resolutions I can keep.