Uuuggghhh. Too much wine. Too many cigarettes. Far too many sparky ideas ("Let's take the golf cart and go find a party"). Extravagant New Year's resolutions, mainly parenting related (...shall cook only organic Anabelle Carmel's recipes ... no sweets ...). And deep discussions. Deep. ("My child will never have a cellphone. This bloody Mxit is too bloody scary.")
And now? Bleeding eyeballs. Dry mouth. Quickened heart rate. Which would be fine, considering the room in which I sleep is dark (very dark), and cool (aircon + fan = Die Antwoord) and that linen softly caresses one's skin like a thoughtful lover (do these actually exist? Yes! For the first three months of a relationship. And then?). It would be more than fine. If The Daughter hadn't decided to play Dentist Dentist at 6 this morning.
She's never been to the dentist, how would she know? My mouth tasted like a bum had left his blanket therein. Why would she want to prod around in there? Children never cease to amaze.
Despite our incredible lack of foresight (tonight we're going to have to do it all over again, unless you want me to take the Azor?), something good came out of our drunken girly discussions.
It's the decision to rock 2011. To take from 2010 the lessons learned and apply them to the situations 2011 presents.
To move on.
The Pant feels healed. And she can't wait to wake up to a brand new start tomorrow.
Happy NY, my panties. Yay for the radness we're going make happen.
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