The quality of mysteriousness doesn’t necessarily mean there is a mystery worth solving. Even an empty box is a mystery until you get it open and realise you were right about the depth but there is actually no substance there whatsoever.

I think you’re suffering the consequences of those who came before you.


I spent yesterday hiding under a duvet on the sofa while everyone else went around having a somewhat more traditional Christmas Day. I made it to lunchtime before I broke down and ruined everyone’s plans, but oh! – this is something I should have done years ago.

It’s quite lovely, doing nothing. I should really make it my new Christmas tradition. See, I have always found Christmas to be such a massive fucking disappointment. I’m from a very unreligious family – no one would claim to be atheist or agnostic but only because they don’t understand the terms – so Christmas with my family has always revolved around presents and eating too much. We were too poor to get the things I actually wanted, though, and at quite a young age I just gave up hoping for a Christmas miracle.

In fact, I don’t remember really celebrating Christmas at all at home after I left my mum’s and moved back in with my nan and grandad. We didn’t even bother with a tree, we’d have a roast dinner but with none of the usual festive trimmings and my present was usually a new coat or pair of shoes that I’d ask for in September because I needed them for school.

Compare this to Christmas at my Dad’s when he was still married to my stepmother. Tinsel and glittery nonsense absolutely fucking everywhere, and the pile of presents under the tree for my little sister would get bigger and bigger as the years went by. There were presents there for me too, of course. The problem was that they got so carried away with buying our affections that they didn’t realise I would rather have one awesome thing than one pretty good thing and a load of utter crap.

I got light-up Christmas earrings every year, along with SO much chocolate. They even wrapped the stocking satsumas. This had a disastrous effect on both myself AND my sister – I now detest unwrapping presents in front of people because I know I can’t ever look enthused enough for the person who gave me the present (even when I’m genuinely ecstatic about what I’ve received), and this stems from being told to be grateful for what I’d been given even if I totally hated it or it didn’t fit right or was the wrong ‘brand’.

I still have just enough hope.

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