It’s Christmas Eve and I’m so incredibly contrary that I’m
battling against writing anything festive. It’s so obvious a topic. I asked a
friend to help brainstorm and he said “you could write something upbeat for the holidays.” It’s seriously
like dude doesn’t know me at all. Some others had helped to steer me in a
direction more in line with what I’m comfortable writing about, but here I sit
staring at my damn Christmas tree and planning my stupid Christmas dinner in my
new Christmas condo. I’m disgusted with my lack of grinchiness. Let’s not get
carried away and start promoting the idea that I’ll sign up for the next
caroling squad that forms, because fuck that. I don’t drink anymore and there’s
nothing in my past (anymore) so tawdry that you can use it as blackmail to get
me to do so. Go fish.
I’m not a super emotional person. Let me clarify: I will cry on
4 separate occasions during a movie about dogs but couldn’t really give a shit
about Valentine’s Day or any other Hallmark holiday for that matter. I don’t
care about my anniversary and hardly make mention of it really except when I
acknowledge the miracle it is that he made it past my two year mark.
Relationships typically have a 2 year shelf-life with me. Somehow, he’s managed
to avert the guillotine. I think he’s inhuman. There’s no way any normal
functioning adult male would survive me. I’d dump me if I could. The best I’ve
ever managed is to give myself the silent treatment for a day, but then I hurt
my own feelings. The struggle is real. Pillar of mental stability, said no one
ever, when speaking of me.
I say I’m not super emotional, but here I sit in awe of all
of my accomplishments and achievements - chief among them being the 10 yr. old
sitting in the other room. When I sit down to tea with my ghosts of Christmas
past, those bitches are tore-back and angry as fuck. At least 3 are drunk and
incoherent and 1 of them is looking for her shoe underneath my couch. The adolescent
ghosts are ignoring me or have locked themselves in one of the other rooms in
the house and have begun blaring Rage Against The Machine. Fucking teenagers! I
think one just set something on fire. I smell fire. I’ve come so far from the
wreckage and sadness that those young ladies carried for me. I suppose a thank
you is in order. Some Halldark cards may be over due.
As I’ve grown, I’ve evolved. I’ve shed old skin and behaviors
for new ones that were less likely to find me in jail cells and police
line-ups. I’ve adopted traditions conducive to personal growth and recovery of
spirit – because let’s face it, my mind is shot. I wanted to be an asshole and sit back
like I didn’t give a shit about this crappy holiday, but I can’t sit here and look
at all that I have and not be humbled and grateful. If you knew the places I
had been, the things I’d done, and the obstacles I’d overcome; you’d see that I’m
nothing special. I’m no better or worse than the person next door to me
necessarily. My eyes are open though; therein lies the difference, I suppose. I
don’t take this shit for granted. That’s the thing about growing and evolving –
once you stretch your limits spiritually, it’s virtually impossible to go back
to what you used to know or how you used to behave. That’s been my experience.
On that note, I’m going to go enjoy all the stuff I’m so
fortunate to have: my health, my home, and my family. Merry Christmas to you
and yours! Yo, which one of you bitches has my other shoe?!
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