“”Now I’ll make the eyes,” said the farmer. So he painted my right eye, and as soon as it was finished I found myself looking at him and everything around me with a great deal of curiosity, for this was my first glimpse of the world.”

I know, we’re just waving goodbye to that time of year again which came in two parts – first the banal, repetitive ‘I still need to buy for…..’ ‘Are you all done?’ which echoes through every shopping center and home from November until Christmas Eve, followed by part two: when every media outlet is awash with ‘a new start’ or ‘kick start your healthy eating now.’  While Christmas catchphrases are my pet hate, they somehow manage to roll off my tongue in an automatic response to the festivities – I’m fully aware of the Christmas code, but it’s still got me.  The language surrounding Christmas maybe ingrained in me but the ‘buy buy buy’ isn’t. Over the past few years I’ve realised that by participating in cultural consumerism I was neglecting what was important to my family – time.  As Marcel Duchamp once said: “my capital is time, not money.”

I’ve finally understood that my time is not only precious but has been wasted in certain respects, as it eludes us all.  So those New Year adages?  The ones that can’t get me?  Yes well they have. In November I turned 39 which means – and it-snot hard to work out – that I turn 40, in about ten months.  :/  Cue desperation, frustration and that much needed rocket under my arse to make me actualise my dreams which have sat listed, folded between the pages of a note book for longer than I care to remember. The same note book which is also filled with shopping and to-do lists, all of which do get fulfilled.  The irony is that those lists which have been completed are the unimportant lists; I’m never going to look back and wish that I had repaired more broken bits around the house.

So to hell with all of the boring life stuff and even if this house falls down around me, I’m actually going to do this shit.

40? Why child, wait ’til you turn 50 or 60!  I hope I do and then the farmer can “make the other eye a little bigger” so that in twenty years’ time I can say “I could see much better than before”.

The point of this blog?  Like the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz, I don’t want to be forced to stay upon my pole – I’d like to stop being told who I am and find my voice.

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