2011: art, running, love, twitter
I’ve just looked through the photos on my camera to remind myself of everything that’s happened this year. Turns out it was 60% dying my hair, 20% baking, and 20% looking at very blurry sunsets whilst on public transport. Gaddafi? Who’s the fuck’s that?
In reality, 2011 has been just as eventful for me as it has been for military dictators. It was a year of two halves, with January to July spent in quite the most spectacularly rubbish relationship I have ever endured (which is saying something indeed) and the following six months largely taken up joyfully skipping through life sans any care in the whole wide world. I have been so wonderfully selfish, dear readers. I recommend it to you all.
In health news, my Dad had a pulmonary embolism which frightened the fucking life out of me, but which we have all silently vowed never to mention again. It was a year ago that I finally received by diagnosis of IBS (of the ‘just get used to it’ variety), rather than the three-headed cancerous parasite my mother had convinced herself was living in my guts. The initial relief has been tempered by a mildly pissed off sense of unfairness which has settled over every mealtime, but that’s generally what I’m like anyway.
In vanity news, I AM A MOTHERFUCKING RUNNER NOW. Except I’m injured at the moment and can’t go out. But when I’m not injured I DO MOTHERFUCKING RUNNING LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING RUNNER! It’s so so so very brilliant, and it makes me feel amazing and it makes me fit into Meg-shaped clothes as opposed to the ones I have to buy for the mutant hippo lady that inhabits my life from time to time. And I dyed my hair blonde! Like Gwen Stefani! Actual Gwen Stefani blonde! It only took 2 rounds of dye-stripper, 3 rounds of bleach, and a semi-perm purple toner. IT WAS LIKE I WAS BORN TO BE THIS WAY.
In education news, I’m still getting one, although it won’t be long before I’m done. The next few months are actually going to be really very horrible and stressful and skint and frightening, but if I make my Christmas gin last I should be fine. I’ve calculated that I have about 20,000 words to write in four and a half months. Although it was on the telly a couple of days ago that Hitler took France in, like, 6 weeks, and he wasn’t even a woman.
In career-type news, I’ve been falling out of love with the theatre and falling in love with visual art, although that’s all basically irrelevant because if you read the papers you’ll know that all 2012 graduates are destined for a life eating old tyres in a secure compound just outside Hull. My only hope is to turn us into an installation and charge a few quid to visit the viewing platform.
And finally, to my one true love. My first, my last, my everything. Dost thou smell as sweet as a summer’s day by any other name etc etc. Dear, beautiful, radiant Twitter. Again I am given cause to wonder how I ever lived through a day without your tender embrace. We have been together three whole years now and the sex is still incredible. Don’t ever leave. IF YOU LEAVE I WILL CUT MYSELF AND LEAVE YOUR BOSS AN ANSWERPHONE MESSAGE ABOUT THAT TIME IN THE RESOURCES CUPBOARD
PS: In 2012 I am going to learn to FUCKING ROLLER SKATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1!!!!!!!!!!1!!1
