Of benches and Christmas
29.10.09, 10:31 pm

Finally gotten my outfit sorted out for the ceilidh on Saturday, after a hideous trip to MeadowHell. I then made the foolish mistake of describing it to my gran, who criticised most of it because she is apparently Vivienne Westwood. According to her, sequins are now good for any occasion and it�s impossible to dance in knee-high boots. We�ll see about that. I�m also not wearing a top made entirely of sequins because I am not fifty.

Went to visit my mum�s bench on Sunday, which was predictably angsty. It�s a good hour drive there and back, and I stayed roughly twenty minutes... I�m not sure how James puts up with me sometimes. He was as lovely as always though, and said that he didn�t mind at all. Bench looked fine, though seeing it made me feel miserable, and James forced me to talk about my mum for a while. I then felt horrifically guilty for not talking about her more (i.e. at all) because a) it does her a disservice not to tell others about her and b) James has no idea what kind of a person she was, because I�m so bloody reticent. The feelings of guilt have not gone away, and I�m not quite sure what to do about it because every time there�s a chance for me to talk about her I feel panicked.

Hideous conversation yesterday at afternoon coffee where everyone sat around talking about the horribleness of hospitals and ICU, and I said nothing at all because no one in their right mind would want to hear my Bernie story and I sure as hell don�t want to talk about it. This little incident also added to the guilt. What is wrong with me? I�m pretty sure no one else is so painfully shy of sharing crappy experiences as I am, and it just makes me feel like I�m not being as honest with people as they are with me. And yet, instead of sharing a little of my experiences and letting people feel like they know me better I clam up, run home and then spend the evening feeling sad and missing Bernie. Epic fail, Holly.

My gran�s still overjoyed that I�m coming for Christmas, and has already roped me into decorating her Christmas tree when I arrive on Christmas Eve. After three days at aforementioned Mave the Rave�s Food Mansion, and then seven days at The Dumfries Inn, I shall be the size of a house and a mad alcoholic, just in time to start back at work again. Lovely.

My sister was due back from Cambodia on Sunday, and is yet to respond to my phone calls or emails. I�m assuming that, had she been kidnapped by rebel forces or been arrested for unconscious drug smuggling, I would have seen it on the news.

Shit, haven�t packed yet and it�s already half past ten. Apologies, will have to cut this short. Nothing else of note has happened anyway, because this is an utterly LAME time of year.

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