My Mum put up her Christmas tree last night. It is beautiful and totally her, meaning ultra chic. Once it was up, I realized it was the 4th December and not only had I not rung my Grandmother to wish her a happy birthday but it was 21 days until Christmas.
It doesn’t feel like Christmas to me.
Five Christmases in London mean I’m used to it being dark and grey with a light dusting of snow. It means going Christmas shopping on Oxford Street with hats, gloves and scarves. It means real Christmas trees with twinkly lights and red Starbucks cups with Hot Chocolate inside.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doing a Scrooge here but I just wish I felt a bit more “Christmassy”.
It’s my first blog post and I can’t think of anything to write about today. But I have decided that I need to write, because I have so many feelings that I need to get out.
I haven’t seen my husband since the 27th October 2011. I won’t see him until the 25th January 2012. I miss him. He is my rock, my pillar, my best friend. We can argue like a cat and a dog, yet we still have so much love for each other.
There was a moment in time where I thought I would lose him forever. We had been fighting over issues that we’d had for nine years. My issues. His issues. We walked around on eggshells around each other. It wasn’t fair, so I moved back home for a break.
By the time I’d walked through the airport and boarded my plane I knew even though it was a good idea to take a break from each other, it was a bad idea – I missed him so much. Thank heavens for sad movies on in-flight entertainment to use as an excuse as to why I had tears running down my face for the whole eleven hours it took to fly from London to Singapore.
I’m counting down the days until I fly back over to London. Only one month and three weeks to go…