Of Firefestivals and red nail varnish.

Since the year is ponderously progressing towards my birthday (which is still months away, though is in the first half of the year) I've been speculating a bit on where I've come from, and where I'm going to. I'm not having a midlife crisis; for one thing, I'm too young, and for another, it couldn't be called a crisis. On the other hand, although I have decent well-paying job, it's not remotely in the area I want to work in. (Administration vs Archaeology.) I finished uni with an excellent degree, despite developing Fibromylagia in my second year. Since then, I've started my masters, but have bumbled a bit. Why? I used to say it was money - and to some extent it is - but there's definitely more to it than that. I've always told myself that if I really wanted to get on with finishing it, I could work really hard, maybe do an additional job if I wanted to, then take unpaid leave to finish writing up. Then I use the excuse that I couldn't work that hard even if I wanted to, because of my health.
Some introspection has revealed the real reason: A total lack of confidence in my own intellectual and acadmic abilities, not to mention ability to concentrate.
Currently, attempts to overcome this lack of confidence seem to be revolving around wearing red nail varnish, for some unfathomable female reason. I'm not a red nail varnish kind of girl (although I've always coveted the ability to wear it well.) Red is a difficult colour; get the wrong shade and you end up looking like a harlot, or just plain cheap. Get the right shade and suddenly you become a mysterious and enigmatic woman of elegance.
Since I don't want to look harlot-ish, I've always stuck to pale shades - very natural shades, or slightly shimmery translucent shades. Recently I've also acquired a very pale pastel blue, which has made me happy because I'm able to wear blue nail varnish to work. (Oooh, look at me rebelling!)

The whole nail thing has been made worse by the fact that I sit next to a girl who's only a couple of years older than me, who always, always has her nails manicured. They're fairly short, never fake, but always beautifully painted. Somehow, on some level, my feminine pride has been wounded. (This is probably also due to the fact that being organised enough to put on makeup in the mornings isn't something that happens to me.)

This weekend, however, I found the Perfect Red. It's a deep shade, blood red, but with a slight pearlescent tinge which gives it depth, and thus class. I wore it to work today, and ended up grinning every time I caught sight of my nails. It's funny how such a small thing can have such an effect.

Anyway, enough about nails. Let's make up for it by having some FIRE.



Last Hogmanay (2010), there was a Fire Festival held on the Royal Mile. Giant iron sculptures - spheres, octopods, otherworldly shapes - were covered in pots of wax with wooden wicks, which were then set alight. There were great chimneys which belched flames high into the air, but the crowning glory was the Chandelier, which swung high above the street, next to the (obligingly full) moon.