The mad-crazy dancing post (or) Christmas in a can

Today I started dancing in front of the mirrors at the gym. In the changing room, not actually in the gym itself, I hasten to add. Partly, I was excited because I actually went to the gym, as opposed to telling myself I would go and then not going. Yesterday, I managed to get halfway there when I realised I only had half my kit. I couldn’t convince myself to go home and get it, so I just went about my errands, partial gym-kit in tow.

Getting to the gym was a good sign. I’m also very pleased with a new detox drink I’ve been trying out. Usually detoxes turn out to be painful assemblages of pill-consumption and a restriction to shredded lettuce. This is not a fun way to eat. This detox allows you to eat pretty much anything you like without sending you running to the bathroom every five minutes.

The very best thing about this is that also tastes very good indeed. That’s important. I’m not sure where we get the idea that in order for something to be good for us, it must be horrible, but I’ve come to the conclusion that that’s what most detox-peddlers believe.

I also found myself feeling very good today. Just generally feeling good. This is despite the packed streets filled with people ignoring the recession, and that usual sardines-in-a-can sensation of Christmas shopping. I seem to have slipped into a routine for dealing with the crazy and the stories going on in my head. Confession is the thing. Something comes up, I open up about it, and it’s released. It’s meant going through a great deal of things in a short time, but this is all good. I’ve felt lighter than I have in ages.

Even better, the Amnar podcast was released today, which meant going through that mildly cringe-making moment of listening to myself tell the story of Tay’s appearance in the story. I actually remember recording this one, and it was one of those sudden crack-up episodes where I released I’d written something good without knowing I had. Tascha and Daar’s exchange over bats and sonic hearing is one of those sections where I can feel relieved that Amnari aren’t the kind of goody-goodies you just want to shoot in the head.

You might remember that I mentioned I’d done a crazy thing yesterday and contacted somebody about writing. They got back to me. They didn’t run away in horror! I was shocked. What she did do was give me a great many helpful links in case I ever wanted to start copywriting. Something to dig through over Christmas.

And now the great confessional part… I have nowhere to be on Christmas. Or rather, I have somewhere to be but nobody will be in it with me.

This has happened to me once before and at the time I was very brave and said that I would have Christmas alone for some serious contemplation. Now I’d like to admit that actually, it’s a bit daunting. It’s mostly daunting because there’s a huge sense that you rate as a social human being if you have somewhere to be at Christmas. It shows that other human beings care about you enough to share their Christmas with you. If you have nowhere to be – nobody to be with – you’re sad and lonely and a bit pathetic. Like three-day-old lettuce.

A few things have led to this. My mother has been diagnosed with Crohn’s, and is still getting used to medication. My parents are also dealing with my grandmother, who recently lost in an altercation with a door and has been hospitalised. Under no circumstances am I allowed to go down and visit. My grandmother is very strict about this. She has her pride and she doesn’t like people fawning over her in hospital. It’s also a plane ride away.

Last year I spent Christmas with friends which was a bit of a rout, and lots of fun except that I drank. I’m not good at drinking alcohol. I’m very petite so it tends to act quickly and painfully. I’m also not used to lashings of rich and exciting food, which my stomach wholly rejected. Quite frequently. All night. Yes, it was embarrassing.

Other friends are doing other things, usually with family. And I can tell you from experience that there is nothing worse than spending Christmas with a strange family, with their own unique beliefs and traditions, especially when you’re going through Major Transformational Change. I get up in the morning with one set of limiting ideas, and go to bed utterly changed by the end of the day. I have no idea who I’ll be by Christmas. Anything could happen.

Last time I spent Christmas alone, I got a variety of different reactions. I had a few friends who’d spent Christmases alone and felt a combination of loneliness and liberation. One friend treated it as a personal insult and demanded that I spend the time with himself and his Catholic family. I have nothing against Catholics but I didn’t really want to be around his family, especially considering that he never wants to be around his family either. That is not an advert for a great experience.

I remarked to a friend while discussing my solitude this year that in many ways it’s worse to be the Poor Abandoned Temperamental Author Seeking Shelter and wind up feeling like a stray dog brought in for the day, than it might be to be alone. I feel upbeat and happy and festive this year, and if I could spend Christmas with a bunch of other happy, upbeat and festive people in the same sort of life-place, on the same path, I’m sure I’d be very happy. I’m not sure I’m up to being in discomfort for the sake of proving to the rest of humanity that I am, actually, capable of having human relationships that involve Christmassy socialisation.

I’m wondering, actually, if this is one of those kicks from life. Being alone with the pile of books I’ve got to read, I can go through Stuff. It’s the ultimate Facing Myself experience. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself at the moment.