That time of the year

Remember the saying that “things can’t get worse”?

Believe me they can. WORSE is a bottomless pit.

To save time I permit myself to lift this from an email I wrote on 25 November:

“In terms of luck, health, wealth and happiness – November is not my month. Notwithstanding that my parents got married – some years ago – on the 7th with my good four year old self being bridesmaid in attendance or the fact that I met Felix’s father on some French friend’s wedding at the end of the month (can’t say I regret it – though divorced for 13 years we still shout at each other as and when occasion calls for it). Actually, come to think of it, we split the same day we met (25 Nov) with a 17 year interlude. Please don’t tell me it’s the 25th today. It is, isn’t it? Oh well. More on the joys of November another time. Each one brings its own surprises. Should I die in a November I shall be seriously pissed off.” End of quoting myself.

After having endured Nov 2008 delivering, virtually daily, nasty surprises and having shivered through a whole week without central heating and hot water (how did people survive in the olden days) and looking forward to the start of advent, in the early hours of 28 Nov I got kicked ass so badly I don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. After initial shock I am still laughing. Mainly because I am in denial.

I rarely wish for Mondays. But, please, roll on 1 December and absolve me from all my sins.

U

PS: Keep signing everything with 2009; as some kind soul pointed out, I am in fast forward mode and wishful thinking is mine.

Hormones

A couple of days ago a friend of mine stated, matter of factly: “You are a woman”. As assessments go it came as a shock.

The conversation took place over the phone and, whilst he might have been exasperated with me (he was), his inflection was neutral. His statement in terms of enlightenment as to my standing in the world roughly on par with my then gynocologist’s assessment that I have higher testosterone levels than your average female. I was only 21 at the time – what did I know about testosterone? Generous man, probably dead by now. And no, I am not hairy or particularly aggressive.

Which neatly brings me, my friend and all of you to question how to suss out people – not that I ever do because futile and who wants to stuff anyone into the dreaded pigeon hole anyway?

Stupidly, mostly because mesmerised by his voice, I ventured that I don’t “generalise” when, of course, I should have said that, hand on heart, I never prejudice.

Saintly yours,

U