THE CLOSEST I'VE BEEN TO A BAR WAS AT BALLET CLASS

So my mum and I picked up this Sophisticated Ladies blues compilation (Eartha Kitt, Peggie Lee, Ella Fitzgerald, Billie Holiday, Nina Simone etc.) yesterday and have been listening to it all night while draping an upside down Christmas tree (pictures to come). Neither one of us could sleep a wink and are back up 4 hours later listening to it again, cackling and staring at our glittering tornado creation. The album is hauntingly lovely and swanky and all but there probably isn't a hint of sophistication in it save for their voices. Pretty fucking interesting lyrics that I need to make a note of for some printed t-shirts. And you know if I'm thinking of doing that, it's not good.

Ummm...so what's been going on...? Well, my dad's 50th is tomorrow (but we don't have to worry too much about him because he already got himself the mid-life Porsche he wanted and he will simply pretend to like whatever spa treatment certificate and jazz compilation we give him, then speed off into the sunset). And my mum is getting into her frazzled yule-tide mess as she threatens to fall off ladders decking the house out in every piece of glittery/shimmery substance it can take. Mind you, it looks stunning upon finale but by Christmas Eve, we would have reached critical mass and never wanted to hear from Christmas ever again, the way she goes about this thing... (someone always throws tantrums on Christmas Day). Me? I'm not too much of a fuss anymore as long as I make exemplary ponche creme to toast with and get a tricked out smoked salmon and egg breakfast the morning of.

Okay...what else? Well, I'm slowly on the mend, although I'm not sure being back on Prozac is going to contribute much to that (but it doesn't hurt). I don't sleep or eat much and I take 9 mile stationary bike rides set on a strenuous fitness program without even breaking a sweat. My hair's grown pretty long without me even realising it...and at a time when I'd like to cut it like a boy or shave the sides (but that would be cliche). I'm a 2-day Academic Writing teacher who's, what I like to call, Moving Forward/FWD (Functioning With Depression) and who wants to pierce her left nipple. That sums it up beautifully, with a hint of TMI. But with breasts like mine, I thought you'd want to know ;p (Is there a safe way to get this done in the Emirates?). And back to lesson planning.