A Whisper of Melancholia

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It is sad thing when a writer is motivated to write only, to steer her mind away from the fact that her flat seems to have adopted the temperatures of the Arctic, and that she may die of cold tonight. Okay, so the bit about dying is probably just a little hyperbolic, but nevertheless, it is the cold that brings her to be typing away at three o’ clock in the morning and not her passion for story telling or intellectual discussion – and that, that is a sad thing.

You may have noticed dear readers (yes, all three of you) that this website hasn’t been attended to in a while and is becoming somewhat dusty and mundane. Of course, I shan’t promise this post will be vibrant and intriguing (you will already be completely hooked at this point, naturally), but I do promise to not write in the third person for the rest of the post.

Let’s see now… We appear to have entered into a brand new year. Apparently, this is something we all must celebrate; so for the rest of the month I shall be wishing everybody I see, speak to, tweet or message on Facebook, a ‘Happy New Year.’ I’m looking forward to February already.

I take it you’d like to know what I’ve been up to the past couple of months? In a couple of words – ‘not much’. I don’t celebrate Christmas (for some bizarre reason, this statement confuses people. In turn, it confuses me, that this confuses people.), so for me, there was no (attempt of) sprinting all over London, wading through angry, impatient and inconsiderate shoppers and loosing the will to live having to wait in never-ending queues to spend every penny that I have and don’t have purchasing gifts. As much as I dislike the materialism and consumerism that Christmas invites in our society, I do enjoy the festive atmosphere; the lights, the music and the food (particularly the spiced German biscuits being sold at German Christmas markets) and most importantly, the opportunity to spend time with my family. Though this year (okay, last year then), I’m sorry to say, I wasn’t with my family for the holidays. Instead, I stayed home, in London and wallowed in sorrow and biscuits whilst completing job applications and pondering my future.

The future. It’s a deceptive bugger, isn’t it?

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