A Christmas Carol is one of my favourite festive stories, mostly because I feel a certain connection with the central character.
Although I do not identify with Scrooge’s attitude and general approach to life, on some level, I do relate to his experience in the novel.
Like Scrooge, I frequently find myself awake in the early hours of the morning.
However, unlike Scrooge, the voices that wake me up are not those of supernatural beings sent to teach me a lesson about the joy of Christmas and the fundamental meaning of life. Instead, they are anxieties that originate from my own brain, piping up for no discernible reason whatsoever.
So, this Christmas, I have reimagined Dicken’s iconic spirits so that they represent some of the anxieties that often haunt me in the early hours – after all, there’s no better way to get into the festive spirit than using classic Christmas tales to analyse your own mental health!
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As a result, I had some pretty outlandish plans for what I was going to achieve when I grew up and became an adult.
I have officially been an adult for several years now and I am yet to achieve any of the goals that I set out for myself when I was five.
I haven’t written a novel (unless you count the Warrior Cats fan-fiction that I wrote when I was 13…) and I know from previous experience that I can’t be trusted to keep a house plant alive for an extended period of time, let alone five ponies.
I’m not famous and the closest I’ve come to going to space was the time I went to see Gravity at the cinemaand paid £5 extra for an ‘immersive’ IMAX experience, which basically meant that my seat vibrated a little bit whenever Sandra Bullock was in the middle of an action sequence or an explosion.
What five-year old me didn’t realise is that being an adult (aka. someone who is self-sufficient, responsible, financially and emotionally stable and just generally has their life more or less under control) can be a hard enough task in itself.
Nowadays, the goals that I set for myself tend to be slightly less outlandish.
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