My family have had a tradition at christmas for as long as I can remember. In the weeks before christmas my brother and I would decorate 26 little envelopes (numbered 1 - 25, with two for 25.) We'd draw the numbers and then add pictures, patterns or whatever artistic expression our chubby little fingers could muster. My mother would then fill these envelopes with penny sweets and put them on a notice board. My brother and I would then take turns opening one envelope a day until christmas day.
I carried on doing this with The Ex (I think she felt the whole thing was a little ludicrous, but indulged me nevertheless) and most recently with First-Born.
I've booked myself a night out on the 1st December and, as I made an appropriate mark in the calendar just now, it occurred to me that this will be the first time that I can remember that there'll be no gaudy board of envelopes draped with tinsel. First-born isn't here enough to make it worthwhile and there seems to be something just, well, sad doing it for myself. Like sending christmas cards to oneself.
Right now the fun, games and adventures of being Newly Single are feeling... aimless.
