I Hate Christmas

I really do. I try to like it, but inevitably the day turns to shit. Why can't it just be a day like any other? I'm tired of nasty comments directed my way by people who ostensibly love me. I'm tired of people talking about me like I wasn't there. I'm tired of greedy little children. In retrospect, I'd like to retract my last post. It's not good to be home. I'm tired, tired, tired of staying up til 1 in the morning just so I can have the place to myself for a little while. I'm tired of Mackenzie peeing on the toilet seat, never putting it down, waking me up every single morning at the feckin crack of dawn, teasing my dogs, and acting like a boob every night at dinner ("mom, why do you love me so much?") Gag. For the love of god, I'm trying to eat here... I'm so very, very tired of always having to tell him to behave himself, with absolutely no lasting results. And if I have to listen to the theme song for the Berenstein Bears one more time I'm gonna have to go find a bridge to jump off of.
So maybe I'm a grinch. or scrooge. No wait. They, after all, "saw the error of their ways", and realized just how wonderful Christmas is. A prevailing myth in our society. That's never gonna happen with me. And that's because Christmas has nothing to do with love and peace, it's about blatant commercialism and revisiting all the reasons why family members hate each other. So here's my promise to myself, my solemn vow: next year I will be somewhere far, far away from here at Christmas time. No tree to set up, no relatives to put up with, no stress of pretending I give a shit when really I don't.

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So good to be home...

Well folks, I've made it through the first half of the year... For a while there I wasn't sure I was gonna (and I'm trying to ignore the fact that the next half is more sort of like the next two thirds). So far so good, haven't failed anything. Despite the occasional mid-class argument, my inability to not speak my mind, and my tendency to stomp through life in oversize steel-toe boots (that's me, all the grace of a backwoods logger). I'm so glad to be back home in Deroche, land of neighbours-who-know-far-too-much-about-my-business and children-who-don't-care-about-my-privacy (or for that matter their own privacy -everyday I wake to the sound of Mackenzie taking a leak, cause for whatever reason he doesn't feel the need to close the door to the can. so i lie in bed and listen. wait for him to go back to his room. then yell at him to go back, flush, put the damn seat down, and wash his hands). Today was Alexandra's birthday, can't believe the little monster is seven already. Children are rather awkward in that they are a daily reminder that time truly is passing and that you're getting old. If the kids weren't getting bigger (and sometimes it seems like they get bigger by the second), I could conceivably look in the mirror and see the same person who was there five years ago... Not that I regret aging (hafta admit it beats the alternative) it's just that I'm starting to feel it. Maybe. Just a little. And I gotta say it doesn't help when a 6 year old asks you your age and then says "wow, you're REALLY old" when they hear your answer. Although I also kind of think it's the fact that since I'm no longer hanging out with people a decade younger than me that my rather hasty regression to my very early twenties has made a sudden about-face. In any case. This is about nothing, and apparently it's going nowhere so I'm just gonna stop. One of these days I'm gonna set up my Mac and get connected to the internet. One of these days. Until then, no pics from me. Sorry.

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