So, how are you? WARNING: WhingeFest Following

This time of year is generally unsettling for me. As the clock trips over from November to December, all Hell breaks loose, if not literally then psychically.

We have birthdays (mine, daughter's, MIL's and mother's as well as one best friend. Another best friend's BD is late in Nov. None of this helps.)

We have Christmas approaching, and with it the insanity of shops, presents, children's expectations and my scrooge-like emotions underpinning it all. Not to do with money, I hasten to add. It's all about the fuss and both, I think really I'm just a lazy festivalist. I have no interest in Easter really, or Melbourne Cup. I like the Grand Final if Geelong is playing but otherwise couldn't give a flying fuck. Everyone gets high-spirited and festive and it just doesn't sit with my innate gloom and doom default. I am pretty lacklustre and grumpy at the best of times; Christmas seems to add another layer of gilt-guilt to the whole dealio.

And now here we are. I have to finish my final read-through before I give the MS to my two (volunteer) readers. The thing is, the themes are all about mothers, bad mothers ineffective mothers, possibly murderous mothers, and mother-daughter relationships. What do you do when a reader (member of family) has trouble reading what you've written for emotional reasons? When something they read rings a bell, or resonates in a way that makes them suspect you've written about them? Do you care about that?
I guess I'm just projecting, and anticipating. It hasn't happened yet.

In other news, Ali has arrived with his beautiful girlfriend Fatima. Oh god she is gorgeous. I am in love with her a little I think. Princess is over there now, and they are not far from where we are which is great. They are happy where they are staying, and I am happy they are happy. There is talk of a trip to Turkey in September next year, I can't let her go on her own so I have to go with. HAVE TO. I can see myself set up in a little room somewhere in the South, with a Turkish family perhaps, with my laptop. Writing for a few weeks. Oh how nice. My contract at work would dovetail very nicely with this little idea. Princess is determined to go and I have said yes to 2010 (no to this year. She wanted to go this year because it had been 2 years, and she wants to go every 2 years. But she was starting at a new school, so I said no. I have to say yes to 2010 and I have, so that's that. He'll pay it's not a problem, but for me to go as well, Clokes won't be happy. I'll have to tell him soon...)

Oh well. Tomorrow an obligatory BBQ at a friend's. The day after an obligatory trip to Mt Macedon to see my aunt. Then an obligatory trip to Blairgowrie on NYD for lunch.

Obligation.

But things to look forward to. A day course in January with writers. An appointment with a shoulder surgeon. A haircut. And some time, quiet time, to write.

Reading - my recent choices I think have depressed me a little. I read the Girl With a Dragon Tattoo trilogy, at my dad's behest. The first one I liked in spite of my own snobbish self. Second was not so good, third was a chore. Fuck. And it's such a best seller? They should spend some of the money on re-proofing the damn thing. Now I'm reading My Sister's Keeper (daughter #1 just read it, I like to keep in touch with what the young kids are reading these days but... but...). It's not bad actually and I know I'll cry, but I don't like the way so many characters have a point of view. Too many I reckon for a book of that length. But it's ok.

What to read next? I still need to get to The Kindly Ones (which I've got and had for ages since it was recommended by someone who I don't know well, but trust - BookMoth? I think it was you).

Feeling so lazy and apathetic and flat. I think a bit is to do with my shoulder. It's been troubling me now for over a year, and gotten worse and it's a horrible thing being in pain. Wears you down. And this is minor. I can't imagine what people in chronic pain must do to survive. Actually, I can imagine. They get addicted to painkillers. I hate even taking a Panadol.

I had strange and disturbing dreams this morning. Menstruation mixed with sexual arousal. Some man at a school, older and devastatingly attractive; me with blood gushing out of my vagina, as if from a hose. My god. So vivid, and what the fuck does it mean?

I'm sitting at the table. There's some mince meat cooking, to be merged with leftovers for another leftover meal tonight. I'm not sure what to do now. Maybe I'll eat a mince pie. Yes, maybe I will.