I apologise for not posting much lately, but I have been suffering big time from feminist fatigue. This is, simply, when your brain finds itself electrically wiped out from analysing everything from a feminist perspective.
It stinks. It stinks like a big, stinky poo done in the thirty seconds between me taking a nappy off L’il Boo’s bum and wandering off to get another one and being distracted by an amusing text message sent by my heavily pregnant friend and getting back to find the smell coming from the toy box (the toy box! what are you? controlled by demons from the planet Mr.Muscle??).
This is getting way too stream-of-consciousness literal. To the point, woman!
Oh, yes. It’s November and, as usual, I agonised over signing up for NaNoWriMo again…but then, also as usual, remembered that the last time I did it two years ago, I failed so badly and was so dispirited by the whole thing that I jumped ship and joined Movember instead where, depressingly, I did noticably better. Being better at growing a moustache than writing a novel does not inspire confidence in a – ahem – ladee of the letters.
So, no NaNoWriMo again and no Movember either (a woman can rock a handlebar once and once only, goddammit, before people start to talk), and November’s such a rubbish month what with the clocks going back and it getting all dark and windy and well into being the ‘SEASON OF DAMP FEET’ that I need something to take my mind off it, so I have put my head in a blender*, rejigged my neuronal connections and have resolved to POST EVERY DAY OF THIS MONTH!
I know, I know, exciting, huh? And I know, I know, I’ve already missed two days but I am notorious (imagine here that I have bothered to find the link to a previous post I did lamenting the fact that I made my New Year’s resolutions in mid-January) for making resolutions after the required date, so those missed two days just do not count. Am I clear?
Now all I have to do is find some system whereby I will be reminded every day that I have made this resolution to avoid the almost unavoidable situation where I’m idly lamenting the fact that neither Jesus nor Father Christmas are women whilst drinking a tinsel-rimmed glass of egg-nog and patting a turkey-filled stomach in time to Jingle Bells when I suddenly slap my forehead and say fuck, I knew there was something I was supposed to do..
*I am kidding. If you think I’m on so much as nodding terms with a blender, you have much to learn about me, my friend.