Whatever, whatever. Blah, Blah

 The Elf on the Shelf was officially shoved back into the black Christmas box straight after our festive lunch.

I fucked the baked potatoes, plus the pork ended up inedible bar the crackle.

Thank god the crackle survived.

 

If you’ve played along here for a while, you would well and truly know that I’m not the biggest fan of the silly season, insert “ this is bullshit, why do I have to cook all this food and decorate a fucking tree.”

We’ve been lucky enough to not endure a sequel to “cyclone storm 2017”. December cemented our two year anniversary of our tree change and the past December didn’t bring the dramatic and catastrophic welcome that we experienced a couple of years ago.

It feels longer than two years. And in some ways I can still recall leaving the “burbs” in the wee hours of the morning, waving the city life goodbye while we quietly drove through the city before the sun rose.

I haven’t been back since, and I’m not sure I will head down to the big smoke anytime soon. I swear I must have been a country gal in some life as our little farm ( 21 acres, so not so little ) that we really don’t do much on is like a pegged out sanctuary of sorts. Yes, of course there has been huge, massive, tragic and deeply challenging times that we have experienced here on Flame Trees, but the sunsets – those sweet deep purple, glowing red setting suns each day with the westerly wind blowing across my face as I watch is slowly set on another day hiding behind the horizon and saying goodbye for another 24 hrs. – is always breathtaking.

But whatever, whatever, blah blah. These are just my thoughts and words, that may be of no real importance and I truly am the worst, inconsistent, non-influential blogger in the world, hah!

Middle of January already and I’m still getting over December. I have two further modules due for Tafe at the end of this month and while my mind is ticking off the assessments, my actions is completing a diamond picture of an owl, because – priorities!

Ethan and I just spent the last hour digging up green tumbleweeds around our gates. We laughed and talked about Fornite, muscle building, spoke in accents and just spun shit to each other. He’ll be 17 this year, an indicator that middle age is closer for me than the naughty 30’s.

Goals for 2020? Every year I project to the world all the things that I will accomplish. In reality – life throws things your way that at times you never ever ever thought you’d see.

So here are my goals:

I learnt how to make Honey Joys. You can survive on those, right? My god such sweet, succulent, crunchy goodness that a blind person could make!

Dust and I are now tolerable friends. Wind season in the Mallee (which in fact had been every month in 2019) has taught me the lack of importance to scrubbing my house down to utter perfection.

My kids are well. My mental health is at a manageable level with my dosage now correct. Steve’s cocktail of meds have now kicked in and we’re seeing little glimpse of the quirky, grumpy and loveable man we all know and adore.

I’m not as optimistic as I once was – I think big life changes and mental breaking points has a way of changing ones perspective, but I definitely have crawled out of the cave of doom, gloom, panic and despair.

To a hopeful 2020.