pound your fist and cross it off your list

It’s almost the new year.  That’s exciting, I guess.

I have about two weeks left in BTown before school starts and I have no idea how I’m going to get through them.  I’ve gotten to the point with my mother where I’m hardly upstairs for breakfast before we start yelling at each other over the most mundane, ridiculous nonsense you could possibly think of.  Da’s home for the first time in two days today and I’m hiding in the basement instead of spending time with him because I can’t stand to be in the same room with my mother.  I’ve gotten to the point where I would rather alphabetise mix tapes than spend time with any member of my family and I have another fortnight of quality time with them.  This is insane.

I feel like my peers all have something to escape that I don’t have.  Their own apartments, a significant other’s residence, work, school, something to do that means they don’t have to associate with their family on a damn-near constant basis.  I don’t have that, really.  I have no reason to go back to Carbondale (at least not in my parents’ minds), I’m unemployed, and for the purposes of this argument, I’m homeless except for my room in their basement.  I’ve had several invitations from friends to just hole up in their apartments, but I can’t support myself enough to buy groceries or return the favour in any way.  I’m stuck.  I’m completely, hopelessly stuck.  And whenever I’m in this house, I feel more unhappy, unstable, and lonely than I’ve ever been in my entire life.

Denmark’s a prison.  Jesus, I want to go home.

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you can have the christmas tree

Here is what I’m thinking about right now.

Maybe this is a Jew thing or a emo-kid thing, or maybe it’s just a Kirius thing, but I really, really, really dislike Christmas.  I dread Christmas.  The one day of the year that most of the country can agree is pretty swell is the day I most desire to sleep through or ignore.  I wake up every Christmas morning, violently willing the day to not be the 25th of December.  Any other day.  Please, Lord, let it be any day that isn’t Christmas Day.  But, of course, it always is.  Which only makes things worse, really.  This probably makes me a Scrooge or a fascist or something, but I can’t even stand the idea of Christmas.  But let me tell you why.

Reasons Why I Don’t Like Christmas:

1. I live in America.  In particular, I live in Illinois.  Southern Illinois, most of the time.  And maybe this is the case in predominantly-Christian countries everywhere, I don’t know, but in Southern Illinois, Christmas begins in August.  Which means that Christmas decorations are up, Christmas presents are being sold, and Christmas music is being played for three and a half straight months.  Christmas songs are, by far, the most annoying songs in the entire universe, if for no other reason than when it gets to be the Christmas season, one is hard-pressed to find a radio station that is playing anything but.  Also, there are…what?  A dozen or so Christmas songs?  Twenty at the most?  And they are covered by every single sorry sap with a recording contract.  And played.  Constantly.  Quite irritating.

2. Christmas is a holiday I do not personally celebrate.  I don’t begrudge anyone who celebrates Christmas; that’s totally cool with me.  I have said on several occasions that I really enjoy casually observing Christmas.  The lights are pretty, the snow is gorgeous (when it happens, which it doesn’t much in Central or Southern Illinois), the general feeling of good cheer is really nice to be around.  I even like some Christmas movies (top five Christmas movies: Nightmare Before Christmas, The Muppet Christmas Carol, It’s a Wonderful Life, Batman Returns, and The Charlie Brown Christmas Special).  I can enjoy Christmas.  However, I prefer to enjoy it from the outside.  I am a Christmas wallflower.  I don’t want to be immersed in it, stuck in the mall while it’s going on, practising it with any real dedication, or going anywhere near a church on or around the supposed date of Christ’s birth.  It’s just not my thing.

3. As a general rule, Christmas at the Palm house is the worst holiday of the year.  My da is usually working (tomorrow being a great example of this rule) and Mum gets overly stressed real easily.  There is almost always a fight about me going to church (Mum usually wins just because I get tired of her yelling); there is inevitably some sort of fit involving grandma and grandpa, usually ending in Grandma crying, Da yelling, or Grandpa holing up in the bathroom for an immeasurable amount of time; my brother is generally an asshole (which is, really, nothing new).  And that’s on the good years.  Everyone is stressed out, irritated, and, in general, unhappy.  Yet we all are told to pretend that this is a happy holiday?  Yeah, I know, it’s the anniversary of Jesus’s birth and all that bullshit, but I don’t fucking care.  In fact, the thing that keeps me from outright disliking Jesus is the fact that his birthdays tend to suck as much as–if not more than–mine.  We’re kindred spirits in that regard.

Is it too much to ask that this sort of falderal ends?  That we could have one Christmas that doesn’t end in tears and upset stomachs?  That we could do something quiet and simple and actually have a nice time?  Actually be a loving family and maybe do a little something to bring about that world peace everyone talks about?  I don’t think it’s ridiculously selfish to want one national holiday that doesn’t involve feeling like shit.  I really don’t.  It’s not even Christmas yet, and I feel like shit already.  This isn’t healthy, you know?  This doesn’t make us a stronger family or better people.  I’m sick of that being an excuse for all of the bullshit we go through at the holidays.

Someone asked me a few weeks ago what I wanted for Christmas this year.  I thought about it a while and decided that I want a Christmas that doesn’t happen in BTown.  I want to spend the day with one or two people who love me unconditionally, who don’t care if I got them expensive presents or made them cookies.  I want to not have to feel guilty about everything and have a day that’s just for me.  I want to sit on the couch with Lem and eat frozen pizza and drink egg nog and watch movies with those one or two people who love me unconditionally.  I want to laugh.  I want to enjoy the holiday without having to be a part of it.  I want the chance to never have to go through any of this pain and depression and bullshit ever again.

But I knew that wasn’t what they were asking.  So I said to get me some socks instead.