i'm not jealous, i just can't take it

I spent the eve of Christmas in the pub with Hannah and 2 old men called Georgie and John. Dementia and drink makes old men funny. I come home and he's not here. I open a present and he doesn't care. I phone him and whine and cry and he's already thought of his justifications for being crap so it doesn't penetrate.

I met my beautiful stranger. I’m on my break with my skinny cappuccino, with 1 sugar, and a cigarette and there he is. Sitting on the steps, in my spot. I tell him he can borrow it. He says he's shy. It felt almost pre-rehearsed. He tells me about his life. I’m nervous, fumbling, shaking, smoking, and smiling. He’s unshaven, self assured, chatty and polite. I’m thinking... wow-this is ideal. Most probably too good to be true, but I take pleasure from it for what it is.

eggnog, mince pies, turkey and merriment

I sat on the kitchen floor, in front of the heater, smoking. I thought about Christmas song lyrics that somehow match people I know. For example:
Fahad (obsessed with anything to do with motoring) : "driving home for Christmas"
Katie (who has admitted she is very demanding) : "oh I wish it could be Christmas everyday"
Richard (fascist) : "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas"
Rachel (obese) : "Oh, bring us a figgy pudding"
Robert (keen sailor) : "DECK the halls with boughs of holly"
Sam (vertically challenged) : "have yourself a merry little Christmas"
and so on and so forth. some are farfetched, i know..... Then i realised how wrong it was to use such extreme stereotyping for my own amusement and stopped

I'm quite crestfallen these days. Maybe I have seasonal affective disorder or maybe I'm just lonely. I have two fleeting fantasies of married/co-habiting adult relationship life. I'm not sure if I want to be loved intensively like Meg Ryan in 'When A Man Loves A Woman' except I don't particularly want my partner to be a pilot and I don't fancy being an alcoholic mother. this fantasy has kids and a strong family structure maintained by me. The other; (no children here) a really relaxed relationship whereby we don't even need to talk sometimes and we have a mutual understanding of each others space and we both have our different careers but we support each other when and where we can. Like in Enduring Love. Or maybe we won't be as professional as that. Maybe more casual like in 'High Fidelity'. He could be an aspiring writer or something underpaid but I don't care and I'm happy living in the dingy flat we rent because he's fun and I love him.

Except for the time off, I can't say I'm looking forward to Christmas. There will be lots of food and drink and films on the telly but I don't know how I feel about that. I would say I am indifferent about it at the moment. I don't plan to buy anyone any presents due to lack of money and will. I probably should get my mother something as its practically obligatory and because despite the fact that I've said I don't want any presents she will still give me something or other to unwrap. I don't know what the arrangements are yet. I don't think it's a decision I'll really have to make. It will just happen, you know?
I should like to buy myself some boots with the little money I have and I'll say they are from Santa what with Lapland being the leading suppliers of black knee highs and all.

All I really want for Christmas is a U.S. visa and a job there for next autumn but I expect this won't be possible. It's a drawn-out process.
Christmas is not a thing. I'd rather not be writing about it but there is little else worth mentioning right now. Stupid childhood memories of Christmas remind me that I used to buy my cats (1 and 2) gifts and little canine treats for my grandparent's dogs. They would sign my Christmas cards "love from Nan, Granddad and (insert dogs names)" with little doggy foot print ink symbol optional. Christmas is for children. When I'm at work in central London, and I'm dazzled by the twinkling lights and my eardrums are repetitively pierced by the jingle bells on shite Christmas songs, I pretend its not happening. Fortunately, my friends and family are similarly unenthused about 'the season' so, despite the purple tinsel tree and the mistletoe over the door, I'm quite able to ignore it. It's all a bit stupid as most of the people i know would rather poke their own eyes out than kiss each other but i figure, unless you want to be outcast from society this winter you have to be mildly involved with the festivities. I'm not bitter if that is how I sound. It just washes over me and I smile and politely reply 'and what about you what are you doing for Christmas?' I hope to be absorbed by my studies. Eggnog, mince pies, turkey and merriment and then... January.

bemusing phone call with ex

Me: “...Hello?”
Him: “Hi! Are you okay?”
Me: “yeah I’m fine.”
Him: “I’m on my way!”
Me: “what?! Where?”
Him: “to your workplace”
Me: “what the hell?!” (we haven’t talked in weeks and I’m at home)
Him: “ohhhh shit! Whoops… i've phoned the wrong number. I didn’t mean to call you!”
Me: “Right… Okay bye”
Him: “Sorry! How are you anyway?”
Me: “Bye”

A weekend of purple haze in Amsterdam

I'm shattered. Into a thousand tiny pieces and I need to recollect my fragmented thoughts.


Amsterdam is a zany place. "Set me your McKroket ." Katy fell up the slippery steps. A guy called Wayne played 9 ball by himself. He wore a shower cap and put footprints on the bed.

Katie has supernatural abilities to find Americans wherever we go and so she did. we all sat talking in a shady but sophisticated coffee shop, between the brothels, irish pubs, sex shops and take-away food outlets. A middle aged gothic-looking woman whom I named "Zelda" smoked hash for hours and stared at Hannah . Then it was 3am and we walked back in the direction of the hotel. It was dark, damp and misty. I thought it made everything look more pretty. JC thought it felt ominous. We said our goodbyes and went to our room. Katie and I sat by the open window and smoked more whilst the church bells tolled.
The next day was overcast but it seemed so bright in comparison to the night before. We went into a cute cafe nearby and stumbled unexpectedly upon JC, Christy and Cam so we drank coffees and ate breakfast together. Cam sang pop songs that everybody knows and talked about his ex-girlfriend and how she felt about her body.
After shopping and picking out adorable pink mittens we went back to Rembrandtplein and smoked again. I signed our names on the bathroom wall.
A double-decker train took us back to the airport. I sat by the window and saw the lighthouses on the coast of Holland flashing and I saw the streetlights turn into dotted patterns and then nothing. I saw my bag come off the plane. We listened to music in the car on the way home and we were all tired and reflective. I wonder if any of our new found acquaintances will be in touch?