CHRISTMAS IS COMING, THE GEESE ARE GETTING FAT
And I'm dreading it more and more with each passing day.
I hate Christmas. We all know that. It's common knowledge that I'm a grinch. But this year I hate it more than ever.
I don't want to go home.
Every year it's the same. Presents, food, tension. Between me and her, between him and us. Between him and them. It's always bad, but this year I just know it will be so much worse. Because now I know what it's like not to have to think about that stuff. I know what it's like not to have to worry about who you're going to make angry or who they'll take it out on. I know what it's like to be (relatively) happy. I haven't been this happy in a long time. I smile even when people aren't joking. I smile when no one's looking at me. That hasn't happened in such a long time I'm starting to think it never did.
And now I have to go back there, knowing what this is like. I have to go back and watch everyone tiptoe round the issues and watch my dad do anything but tiptoe round the issues which is just as bad and live by their rules again and live with their problems. And to do that, when I know how it could be, is awful. Worse than not knowing.
And nobody gets it. Everyone's looking forward to going home so much and I am terrified. I actually hate to think about how it's going to be when I go back. It's been three months. Three months in which he's been alone to think and drink and curse us his feeble children. I know how angry he's going to be and I know there's nothing I can do about it but sit and wait for it to come. Of course everyone misses their parents. They miss being pampered and they miss the comfort of someone who loves them so unconditionally and they miss being at home. But we come from entirely different families. And I wish someone could understand how scary it is to have to go home. To leave somewhere so wonderful and go somewhere you know is going to be so horrible in so many ways.
He's already being stubborn, insisting we stay at his on Christmas Eve, even though he doesn't celebrate Christmas and even though we'll wake up at his and there will be no tree no presents no food-- barely even a smile, I would imagine. Just a bare room, a tv, and a man with a jug of wine. A grumpy man with a jug of wine. There will be no Christmas there. I'd be more inclined to yell "Happy Thursday", if I dared to shout anything.
I don't want to go I don't want to go I don't want to go I want to stay here.
I'm afraid.
Of Christmas.
"All I want for Christmas is you." All I Want For Christmas Is You, Mariah Carey
And I'm dreading it more and more with each passing day.
I hate Christmas. We all know that. It's common knowledge that I'm a grinch. But this year I hate it more than ever.
I don't want to go home.
Every year it's the same. Presents, food, tension. Between me and her, between him and us. Between him and them. It's always bad, but this year I just know it will be so much worse. Because now I know what it's like not to have to think about that stuff. I know what it's like not to have to worry about who you're going to make angry or who they'll take it out on. I know what it's like to be (relatively) happy. I haven't been this happy in a long time. I smile even when people aren't joking. I smile when no one's looking at me. That hasn't happened in such a long time I'm starting to think it never did.
And now I have to go back there, knowing what this is like. I have to go back and watch everyone tiptoe round the issues and watch my dad do anything but tiptoe round the issues which is just as bad and live by their rules again and live with their problems. And to do that, when I know how it could be, is awful. Worse than not knowing.
And nobody gets it. Everyone's looking forward to going home so much and I am terrified. I actually hate to think about how it's going to be when I go back. It's been three months. Three months in which he's been alone to think and drink and curse us his feeble children. I know how angry he's going to be and I know there's nothing I can do about it but sit and wait for it to come. Of course everyone misses their parents. They miss being pampered and they miss the comfort of someone who loves them so unconditionally and they miss being at home. But we come from entirely different families. And I wish someone could understand how scary it is to have to go home. To leave somewhere so wonderful and go somewhere you know is going to be so horrible in so many ways.
He's already being stubborn, insisting we stay at his on Christmas Eve, even though he doesn't celebrate Christmas and even though we'll wake up at his and there will be no tree no presents no food-- barely even a smile, I would imagine. Just a bare room, a tv, and a man with a jug of wine. A grumpy man with a jug of wine. There will be no Christmas there. I'd be more inclined to yell "Happy Thursday", if I dared to shout anything.
I don't want to go I don't want to go I don't want to go I want to stay here.
I'm afraid.
Of Christmas.
"All I want for Christmas is you." All I Want For Christmas Is You, Mariah Carey
1 comment:
Aww Duckie... it's just a few weeks, yes it'll be crappy, but you have Eddy to look forward to! Work hard! Build yourself a future ;)
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