I don’t like Christmas. Or the holidays.
I wrote the above almost a year ago, that was the 28th of December 2013, and I feel the same way as I did the day I wrote that.
I just jumped the hurtle of Thanksgiving and dealing with people asking me if when I got home after my 12 hour day serving them their holiday meal if I’d be having my own turkey feast. Fucking annoying…really? Did you think about that before you allowed those words to come out of your tryptophan addled mind?
The fact that I am forced to as a part of my job decorate for the holidays makes me not want to open up the plastic bin that I store my childhood ornaments and mine and hubbies NFL inspired stockings. I have no passion for these holidays because I am a worker on these days. I am not a participant in gift giving because this time of year falls in the “oh shit we didn’t save enough for the winter” mode, however during the summer months I forget what I should be saving and give give give.
I’m an orphan, a satellite, only child. What is left of my family are cousins, aunts and uncles and a slew of father side family that he did not want me to know but have a facespace relationship with. Whatever. I’m sure I sound ungrateful and I’m about to address this.
I know there are people in this world who are struggling so much with their realities that I, nor most of us, can’t even comprehend. Sitting on a dirt floor eating the same gruel day in and day out. Or there’s the Precious reality…so many to think about. And for this life I live, mine, I’m grateful. It does not lessen MY broken heart and MY lack, even when I know that someone else is suffering beyond and below my own.
Its not all picture damn perfect. We smile and act and laugh but when we are able to go back into the closed kitchen our smile becomes a line. What exists behind our eyes, in our hearts and in our loud as fuck minds is only known to us and it is daunting, but still we press on and put on the show. Lights camera action…I always wanted to be an actress and with my lifestyle as is I am, just no one knows my name except for the few who appreciate the attention I give.
I miss. I long for. I can’t and shouldn’t want to take it all back because it makes me who I am today. But to be able to call my mom when I’m feeling like I am now. To escape to my second moms comfort, Aunt Jan…my Uncle Toes smell of computers and Dr P and my Uncle Jims giant machinery sandman persona.
I don’t like Christmas. Or the holidays…