My eldest daughter forgets to log out of the computer after she has written up her homework. The computer doesn't receive its cue to take its anti-virus and general-security smoothie and so we end up with a computer that needs to do a fair bit of preening in front of the mirror before we can use it properly. And so I am gently encouraging her to remember. (For 'gently' read "aaahh, you've done it again, its driving me crazy!".)
We are sitting in the dawn of silly season. The season where everyone goes a little crazy. Life-loving people have an excuse to ramp it up (hello science-experiment cocktails) and people you see as Stalwarts of Sensible suddenly show a little of what's under the guise and it can be shocking, worrying, amusing and warming. My work no longer gives me colleagues and so my exposure is limited. I enjoyed it, but I didn't realise how much it drained me. What else drains me? Exposure to the full-on Christmas Express. TV, radio, packaging, advertising, catalogues... Oh the catalogues!!! Here is what I'm doing...
When the postman drops the leafy bricks through the door, I lift them up and I put them straight into recycling. They do not pass 'Go'. If I open them, the scenes my eyes feast upon will send my brain and body into "it's time I...", "should I...?", "they do it with matching pyjamas...", "do we need a...?". Silly turns to panic. I end up feeling not only feeble for not BEING a Christmas scene but I feel I need to keep up! Stop. It.
It's the equivalent of being a child and looking at the sweet counter. Don't look. Be your parent and pull your eyes away. It's not needed. You will buy sweets when you are allowed. You will make your Christmas season the way you can handle it and unless you are very strong minded, you might need to operate a bypass system. Catalogues straight to recycling. You can even draw a face on the recycling bin, give it a name and feel good that you have "just fed George". I'm not a big TV watcher but if there is something I'd like to see I record it... that way I can fast forward through the 743,945 adverts every 15 minutes. They too make me feel inadequate and have me craving a version of 'The Waltons' existence. CDs at the ready to avoid constant Christmas music trundling through your subconscious winding up the conveyor. Be prepared to prepare less. REBEL!
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The room above the garage.
A Moodscope member.
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