Sourweebastard began as a means through which to document the daily trials of life: a place where I could unleash a bit of vitriol and chronicle my woes. You, dear readers, are the unpaid therapists who take time out to read my rants and endure tales of my obsession for recycling, my cranky bowels, irksome children and life with a running obsessed husband. Thank you.
I wanted to flex my writing muscle which has lain dormant for years, stifled by teaching, child bearing, but most of all a fear that what I’d churn out would be so shite I’d never get over the shame. This year, I have indeed churned out some rubbish, as my creative writing teacher may testify, but I’ve written some pieces of which I’m proud too.
Writing, in whatever form it takes is cathartic. It’s healing and it’s humbling. Each time I have told a story for the Tenx9 event in the Black Box, I have delved into my past and confronted times in my life that have been frightening, painful but somehow also quite funny, when one looks back with the benefit of hindsight. I am an anxious over-thinker who is easily irked. I need to work on these less than admirable qualities, while also acknowledging that they don’t make me a bad person, just a person who could do with letting some stuff go and perhaps seeing the glass half full for a change.
So this year I’m going to be a bit kinder to myself. Telling yourself that you’re shit is not only unhelpful but it’s a form of laziness too. It’s a way of saying why bother, sit on your arse, have another glass of wine and tune out.
I am thus going to attempt OPTIMISM. This may be optimistic in itself, (a writer in the Guardian guide made me giggle yesterday when he said that 2018 is likely to be just as equally batshit crazy as its predecessor) but I’m going to try and be less terrified about the world ending in a spectacular face-off between Trump and Kim, and focus instead on the small things I can control.
I am overcome with gratitude when I think of the endless patience of my friends and family when they have to listen to my neurosis and still tolerate my company. My mum is going to read this and say ‘Dear God are you STILL on about the world ending? People will think you’re NOT RIGHT WISE.’ Mum, they already think that. I’m not wise, but frankly, I don’t give two hoots. Sensible people, well, they can be a bit dull can’t they? And we don’t want that. Batshit crazy, all the way.
Happy New Year good people, may it bring you all great things and I’ll keep you up to date with my new found positivity.