The lull before the new cycle begins.

The last week has been lovely but mad. For the first time since before Christmas things are settling back down which feels nice. I’m looking forward to a days peaceful hiatus before the new year.

I’ve spent lovely time with people I adore. I’ve systematically fed people until they are ready to explode. I have drunk christmasy things like amaretto and Irish cream, but predictably reverted to my true love gin, which aside from being my lifelong preference, definitely seems to go best with steroids (I'm working on producing the definitive word on steroid cocktails). I have got dolled up and danced. I have lounged around in a ridiculous plastic tiara that arrived courtesy of a friend (glamour - I have it). I have spent lots of time laughing and reminiscing and generally having people who love me telling ridiculous stories - ’do you remember in about 1996 when you…?’ (old friends come with such perils don’t they)? N & I have dedicated some serious time to shagging and yet again I am made aware that other people see our sex life as one long romp – we are commonly perceived as hopping off for a marathon bunk up at every opportunity. It’s only when other people reference it that I realise this with a start.

And in amongst all this the first hints of The Annual Planning Summit have commenced. The Summit is a source  joy as it means that we plan to do some cool stuff, but also of trepidation as we have to stretch ourselves and will be held accountable for various failures (mine for example includes ’why the fuck can’t you drive yet?’) which it has to be said is a good question. It also has strong ripples that affect other people. For example, N knows that the decisions made as a result will impact on him and result in various requirements, some of which will inevitably have far reaching consequences.  Wheeeeeeeee!

Anyway, a core group of us band together in various ways, offering support, a boot to the backside and generally helping each other out in reaching our aims, both individual and collectively. The last couple of years has seen me way below par but we are deciding that 2012 will herald my return to business. I can hardly wait, but am also scared as fuck as I’m out of practise at lots of stuff now, and suffering a significant crisis of confidence - definitive proof if any were needed that it's time to jump.

I should add that jumping, kicking and generally launching into my endeavours is my default approach to Life.....

Official undertakings will begin over the next week, but I am already decided that immediate moves will include;

• Dropping the excessive amount of weight I’ve gained from the steroids and Christmas cake as soon as I finish this cycle - ’Hello beautiful, you’re all round, are you junked up darling’? (My friends are so kind and subtle. But seriously, every day the Christmas photos show me looking more and more puffy. It's very sexy I'm sure).
• Getting a new course up and running.
• Learning to drive.  I have the funds thanks largely to other people's generosity (Did I mention that I love them?) I have the license. I now need to get the paperwork regarding my neck in order (for which I have made an appointment next week), then bite the bullet and plan time, book courses and tests - God help me, this freaks me the fuck out for a lot of reasons. I have managed to get to 38 without learning for a good many reasons which I am now about to kick.

Speaking of kicking, I will issue N with his new annual requirements over the next week too. Things are about to be shaken up. Game on :D

Just typing that makes me happy ;)

Blood, Gingerbread and Steroids.

Sadistic Domestic Goddess Tip #48:

One of the most blissful culinary combinations in the world is homemade toffee gingerbread fresh out the oven followed by mouthfuls of blood. The combined flavour is utterly sublime, and very festive. God I love Christmas. 

Needless to say I have been baking, and sampling and am now a little high and very happy :)

Why yes, I do look utterly like the delightful Ms Day as I spread my special domestic Goddess festive cheer!

Ok, now the boring part. I’m on steroids again which should make Yule etc interesting.  I went to the Doctor as I was going downhill so rapidly that it was obvious I was going to be crippled within a fortnight at best, and I thought I’d try being proactive and prevent it getting that far, which last time worked. The Doctor was great, she just took one look at me and wrote me up a hefty prescription which was pleasingly easy. I think I may now be getting the hang of this RA lark.

But enough of this boring stuff, let us return to matters festive, in particular glittery peacock feather slavetails. Thankyou to all of you who memoed, commented or 'loved’ the tasteful and understated photograph of N so chicly adorned for the festive season. I was feeling really ill when I snapped it on a whim, and the overwhelming and hilarious responses made a rough day more cheery. I’m sure N feels the same. He’s currently lying in the bedroom bleeding and recovering following some very loud screaming and asking if I was putting acid on his skin (it wasn’t acid but wasn't that a pretty question)? However, as I haven’t shoved any holly up his arse today or put a disco ball on his balls (the title for that pic would be simple at least, yes?) I personally think that must surely constitute a win for him. And as I said the blood was simply delicious with my gingerbread so that’s what really counts. He lives to serve ;)

Sparkly!

Fa la la la la, la la la laaaaaaaaaaah