Christmas, the dark abyss of introspection

It was, in all fairness, a very long Christmas day with very little actual sleep, but as that day staggered, bloated and full, to its natural conclusion I couldn’t help but start the annual stock-take. Apparently the average calorie consumption on Christmas day is 7000. I had carefully and deliberately lost track of my own eating shortly after a nourishing breakfast of Cadbury’s Caramels, and had themed the day largely around eating anything that stayed still long enough. When the last of the meals had been duly consumed I felt confident that 7000 was within my grasp, and that was, possibly, what lead to the bleary introspection later on.

Once tucked up in bed next to a feverish boyfriend and underneath a stomach now several sizes larger than the previous day my mind gathered together the achievements of the last 12 months and invited me to consider what I had done. I had done nothing. Quit the well paid job I liked, taken on the 60 hour-a-week torment of restaurant management. Quit of out protest at the hours only to join a failing restaurant that hadn’t even opened. Made redundant a month later when that project folded and drifted into another customer services job. Square one, thy name is now. All in all, the summary was pants. I had achieved nothing of note, had annoyed a local restaurant group by quitting and had scalded myself on the iron of actual work. Nothing had worked out in 2010. It had been a year of not quite achievement. A year for trying and failing. A year that I was glad to see the end of. For this reason, I decided, with a level of optimism that surprised both myself and the flu-ridden boyfriend, 2011 would be different. So different, in fact, that I would declare publicly that this would be the case.

So avast ye, people of both present and future who have gotten thus far through my meanderings; I declare Two thousand and eleven the year of the Jabberwocky!

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About Jabberwocky Soliloquy

The Jabberwocky drifts through space, collecting the most tasty things to eat. It brings them home and cooks them, humming about deliberate omissions and fortifying colours. As with all things it is, or should be, just happy to be here.
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