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  • Amok Mama: A totally fucking excellent year

Politics

Amok Mama: A totally fucking excellent year

Among the mountain of misfortune that is the year 2013, including one lingering and creepy internet meme, Jacinta Nandi, ever Exberliner's optimist, has found one reason why this year wasn't so bad.

“I can’t wait for this year to be over,” says my friend Hayley, somewhat forlornly. “It’s been the worst year of my life.”

I look at her and sigh sadly. I don’t wanna take anything away from people in Syria or with breast cancer or whose kids died in an earthquake or anything, but I kind of think 2013 has been a pretty shitty year for me, too. My dad’s poorly, my mum has MS, my Hausverwaltung are evil bastards (like, literally, it’s like I’m renting a flat off of one of the baddies out of Captain Planet), my horrible ex-boyf dumped me mercilessly, mainly because he’s a futile, cowardly, meaningless human being but partially because he’s a white supremacist/classist cunt (this is half a joke, plus I promise never to mention him in my blog in 2014, okay, so am allowed one last dig, surely), my psycho ex grassed me up to the Jugendamt, purely because he is a psycho arsehole, like that was his sole motivation, in fact, I wouldn’t be surprised, if, at the appointment where he grassed me up and they asked him why he was there, he actually replied: “It’s because I’m a psycho arsehole, actually.” Plus: Slenderman. Slenderman entered my life. I fucking hate this Slenderman character. He has made my life approximately 17 percent harder. He’s a right cunt, that Slenderman is. He’s a cunt and a half. Apparently he sucks your soul up out of your mouth like cats do to new-borns with their breath and it just sounds awful. Anyway, it’s Slenderman’s fault that my son won’t go to sleep without me in the same room with him. I sit on the floor trying to breathe quietly enough so he can get to sleep but loud enough that he knows I’m not alone. God, Slenderman I hate him. He’s awful and 2013 in general has been hugely rubbish.

Still. I must admit. Don’t want to be showing off. But I have had lots of nice sex. Really nice sex. I should be grateful for that, shouldn’t I? This year I have had lots – okay, not lots, but a fair amount – of nice sex. I kind of feel like, at the end of the year, you should write cards to people you’ve had sex with over the year, thanking them for the nice sex you had, kind of like Christmas cards, only slightly less meaningless.

“2014’s gonna be loads better,” I say to Hayley, consolingly.

“It can’t be much worse,” she answers, peevishly.

I think about all the people in Syria or with breast cancer or whose kids have died in earthquakes.

“Well, it could a bit,” I say. “It could be a teeny-tiny bit worse. But I don’t think it will. I think it’s going to be totally fucking excellent in every way.”

“Yeah,” says Hayley, “you’re right there.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I know I am.”