Who wants to be normal? Sane people, that’s who. Folks who recognise the value in being part of the human race. And this time of year throws beautiful light on the joy of normal. Not least because of what a mess Christmas and New Year makes. And for once I’m not talking about emotional mess (sadness, anxiety, fear), or financial mess (why check your bank balance? Why do that to yourself?) but, rather, actual physical mess.
So it’s 2nd January at 10am. Laundry everywhere. Presents everywhere and let’s not even think about the packaging and wrapping and bags. BAGS!!!!! The fridge is a mess. The car is a disgrace; full of empty ham (protein) packets from petrol stations – at least it wasn’t a KFC this time – and mud and leaves (so many leaves) and single earrings and a sock and a lipstick lid which means that in a bag somewhere (bags are evil) there is a melting lipstick, bleeding over all it surveys. There’s a bag (BAG) somewhere full of dry-cleaning (who can afford dry-cleaning by the way?) but it has buried itself somewhere. Perhaps it has been thrown away. Perhaps it contains the melting lipstick. Every lightbulb seems to have blown and nothing is where it belongs.
Yes, I might be a bit fatter and more toxic than I was a month ago, but right now I just want normal. Normal is the goal, the resolution. Everything in its place. Beds made, rubbish (so much, so much, so much) outside and fridge organised. I want towels washed and presents put away; with old stuff taken to a charity shop to make room for new stuff.
Now it’s 7pm on 2nd January and I have hit normal. The damp stain is still there and I hate my sofa but the washing is done, the bin isn’t over-flowing and there is not one bag in my eye-line. A bagless evening lies ahead. My herbal teacup overflows… I’m not even going to think about the fucking Christmas tree and you’re mean for bringing that up.