It's Christmas...

That inevitable time of year that I've had mixed feelings about ever since the year the gravy boat broke mid-pour and deposited gravy all over the table and with it a substantial amount of stress.

Some of my favourite Christmases have been the simplest ones. The one in America when I was 5 and we got a plastic tree for the hotel room and quite possibly ate at red-lobster (I recently discovered that I'm possibly the only person in MA ever to have seen, let alone eaten at, a red lobster. Although I doubt I was allowed lobster.). The one where everyone got snowed in so it was just my immediate family and an oversized turkey. The one where we cooked chinese food instead (although I'm not sure that ever happened - I think I just wanted it to happen). My Mum went mental for Christmas. She used to have our next-door-neighbour write the Santa letters with her left hand, just in case we were smart enough to recognise our neighbour's handwriting. She also once tramped sooty boots all through the house at an attempt at Santa authenticity. And we got a photo of rudolph (taken I think at the natural history museum in DC which they'd visited that year.)


This year Christmas will be spent with Jeremy's extended family. There will be no crackers (no not those sorts of crackers), mince-pies or Christmas pudding and there will probably be salad served with a roast dinner (this isn't a bad thing btw, it's just weird for English people).

It's strange, contemplating a time so rich with tradition and all my traditions are 3000 miles away. I don't mind, mostly because I'm going home on the 27th and will insist on having crackers with every meal and will most likely eat my weight in mince-pies (I attempted to make them but the only mince-meat I could buy here tastes faintly of soap). But without my sister bouncing off the walls with excitement and waking me up about 5 hours too early and my Mum camped out behind the sofa wrapping top-secret presents, it just doesn't quite feel like Christmas. But maybe that's just being an adult...maybe Christmas wont be Christmas again until I have children to lie to...

...In which case Christmas can wait a few more years. 

Officially Adulted...

On Friday I passed my driving test.

I'll repeat.

On Friday I PASSED my driving test.

All yee who have been driving since birth will fail to understand the monstrous enormity of this accomplishment in my world. But driving, to me, has been a massive wall in my head that I could not scale. Maths is a similar wall, along with assembling Ikea furniture. But while I may (will) never conquer the wall of Maths, I have conquered driving and I am absurdly proud of myself.

Here is the tale of my scaling the driving wall:

1. Got my provisional license (permit) aged 18 - a little late but still an acceptable age.

Didn't use it.

2. Started having lessons over the summer when I was 19. Stopped after I returned to uni and a) couldn't afford it and b) couldn't be bothered.

3. Spent 8 years coming up with a mountain of reasons for why I didn't need to drive. Things like being environmentally friendly (total BS since I was flying across the atlantic every 4 months), and not needing to because of public transport (and friends with cars) and money of course (in England you have to be insured on whatever car you're learning on and it's not cheap).

But really I was just afraid. Terrified, in fact. I used to have a recurring nightmare that I was driving and I didn't know how or I couldn't open my eyes. When I barely trust myself to carry a glass across a room (not many people have songs made up about the clumsiness of their hands), putting myself in charge of tons of moving metal didn't seem like the best of plans.

And then I moved to America, which leads us to

4. No longer able to rely on public transport to get me everywhere and faced with the fact that EVERYONE drives here (and thinks you're a mutant if you don't know how) and that I'll likely need to if/when I actually gain employment, I took the theory test to get my permit and then...

5. Did nothing for about 6 months. But then I...

6. Interviewed for a job that involved a ton of driving so decided I really should learn how. And so a few nights a week (like at 11pm) Jeremy and I would brave the roads and carparks of Waltham and slowly, slowly I learned to drive. I had multiple temper tantrums and one panic attack but eventually I pretty much got the hang of it and I booked my test.

7. Took the test with my dear mother-in-law sat dutifully in the back seat and all was going well (well, not 'well' exactly but I hadn't yet failed) until I drove through a stop sign.

Yes, I said it, I failed my first test because I drove through a stop sign. Classic. I was not amused. But, thankfully, driving through stop signs is a fairly easy flaw to rectify so I rebooked my test and

8. Then I passed.Only 9 years after I first got my provisional license I passed. Not with flying colours mind you, but I don't really care about the colours provided I never have to take that test again...

...oh yea...

9. When I move back to England I will have to retake the test and learn how to drive on the opposite side of the road and drive on roads ridiculously narrow and windy and terrifying...

10. Before that though I need to summon the courage to drive somewhere, anywhere, on my own.

The approach of blobdom.

Since I last posted, my little sister got engaged and the temperature has dropped. As far as I know the two are unrelated.

Beyond that, nothing has changed. I am fast falling into the routine I struggled against all year, which basically means sleeping in too late and then being unable to fall asleep at a respectable hour and therefore visciousising the circle. It's the cold I tell you. And the laziness.

Spell check just told me that every word in the above paragraph is miss-spelt.  I find this hard to believe.

So yes, the laziness. It's bad. I'm in mortal-danger of becoming a blob. I do lunges as a way to get around the house in an effort to stave off total blob-dom and I've given up beer (because I don't really like it anyway and it seemed like an easy way to cut out calories) and drinking on weeknights (unless it's absolutely necessary), but I fear that my total lack of movement is likely to catch up with me at some point. If it hasn't already - I'll be conducting an opinion poll when I'm back in the UK over Christmas, although with the added variables of (proper) roast-dinners, galaxy, mince-pies, sausages and prawn cocktail crisps being available it may not be a fair test.

The problem with the temperature is that it's only going to drop further and will soon be followed by snow and ice and these things are going to prohibit me from moving anywhere at any speed, even if I am inclined to move, and thus perpetuating my rapid demise. It's not like I've ever been one for exercise, but I have been licenseless and employed (paid or otherwise), which has necessitated walking everywhere. Now I am unemployed, and while I'm writing a lot as a means to occupy myself, having fit-fingers isn't going to help much.The only thing for it is to get my license and a car and to drive to the nearest gym and exercise there. Yes I know that sentence contains many things that seem unlikely or impossible. Stop laughing.

Oh if only I could curl up in a cupboard and slow my heart-rate down to barely perceptible levels and sleep out the winter...although I'm currently making a fairly good go at it.