...And So It Begins
Pardon this post, first of all. I'm making it soley in effort to stay awake until my clothes are dryer ready.
It is, officially, Christmas Eve, and while we braved both mall and best buy today without any visible marks, my rant on people who saunter is nearing the bubbling over point. I can't help but think i'm going to kill someone before the holiday season is anywhere near over.
It would figure, that after a week of downing anti-histemines, avoiding caffine - my lifeblood - and going to lay down early like a good little paranoid skisophrenic, that I would hit with a one-two sleepy cocktail the first time I actually have something to do. Yes, that's right folks, after a week of boredum, despite the stress, i finally have a goal to meet and a timeframe in which to do it and I can barely keep my eyes pealed open. That is, of course, a sign that the moment I close my eyes this evening i'll be greeted with the oh-so-wonderous barage of nightmares I always have when I need sleep the most.
Then, tomorrow - or today, rather - it begins. This year, contrary to years of the past, it isn't the sheer number but the sheery suckiness of the desinations that makes Christmas Eve hell on toast. By making one of our stops a few hours ago and skimming the Grandparents-on-my-Mom's-side visit because I will be seeing them in what, i'm sure, will feel like a 3x9 cell for three days, we've narrowed our night down to two stops. The ever innocuous stop over with Mike's family. There will be cookies - way more snacks than we'll ever eat and, if we're horribly unlucky, his sister will drag out the DVD version of Trivial Pursuit. Then, oh then we must embark on the family history.
I promised I wouldn't do this, because I figured I would find the entire process exhausting but I cannot help but want to rant about the shit position my supposed elders have thrown me into this year. We normally see my Grandparent's on my father's side - Eva and Adolf - on Christmas Day. We stop by there house, there are cookies and shrimp and crappy gifts no one wants. [For two years running she has purchased mike a popcorn bowl. I have no idea why, but she does. Oh, and every year she gives me the family-pass-around of semi-used romance novels. To quote the 90's - As if.] This year, my own parents really managed to fuck me on this one. You see, they're going to be out of town this year which means that, for the first time in 40 years, my father won't be celebrating Christmas with his parents. Why is that a problem for me? Because I'm still fucking here and I still have to see them on Christmas. Now, the afor mentioned Eva and Adolf status they hold isn't even the reason that totally fucking sucks. I've long since accepted that my Grandmother makes Pol-Pot look like a stand-up guy with a few social issues, but it's not her that's the problem this year. When your flight leaves out of south Chicago at 3:30 on Christmas Day, it's a bit difficult to make your standing 2 o'clock appointment in Bristol and so I find myself visiting them on Christmas Eve. If Eva and Adolf (the real ones) ever managed to make it past the honeymoon stage and actually spawned it would be my Uncle and, in the great scism between him and my father, he got Christmas Eve as his designated visitation night. For me, this means an hour and a half (i did manage to steal it down to that with only a minimum of lying) at my psycho Aunt's house exchanging awkward conversation with people i've only seen three times since I was 6 and trying to dodge the Gestapo.
It is, officially, Christmas Eve, and while we braved both mall and best buy today without any visible marks, my rant on people who saunter is nearing the bubbling over point. I can't help but think i'm going to kill someone before the holiday season is anywhere near over.
It would figure, that after a week of downing anti-histemines, avoiding caffine - my lifeblood - and going to lay down early like a good little paranoid skisophrenic, that I would hit with a one-two sleepy cocktail the first time I actually have something to do. Yes, that's right folks, after a week of boredum, despite the stress, i finally have a goal to meet and a timeframe in which to do it and I can barely keep my eyes pealed open. That is, of course, a sign that the moment I close my eyes this evening i'll be greeted with the oh-so-wonderous barage of nightmares I always have when I need sleep the most.
Then, tomorrow - or today, rather - it begins. This year, contrary to years of the past, it isn't the sheer number but the sheery suckiness of the desinations that makes Christmas Eve hell on toast. By making one of our stops a few hours ago and skimming the Grandparents-on-my-Mom's-side visit because I will be seeing them in what, i'm sure, will feel like a 3x9 cell for three days, we've narrowed our night down to two stops. The ever innocuous stop over with Mike's family. There will be cookies - way more snacks than we'll ever eat and, if we're horribly unlucky, his sister will drag out the DVD version of Trivial Pursuit. Then, oh then we must embark on the family history.
I promised I wouldn't do this, because I figured I would find the entire process exhausting but I cannot help but want to rant about the shit position my supposed elders have thrown me into this year. We normally see my Grandparent's on my father's side - Eva and Adolf - on Christmas Day. We stop by there house, there are cookies and shrimp and crappy gifts no one wants. [For two years running she has purchased mike a popcorn bowl. I have no idea why, but she does. Oh, and every year she gives me the family-pass-around of semi-used romance novels. To quote the 90's - As if.] This year, my own parents really managed to fuck me on this one. You see, they're going to be out of town this year which means that, for the first time in 40 years, my father won't be celebrating Christmas with his parents. Why is that a problem for me? Because I'm still fucking here and I still have to see them on Christmas. Now, the afor mentioned Eva and Adolf status they hold isn't even the reason that totally fucking sucks. I've long since accepted that my Grandmother makes Pol-Pot look like a stand-up guy with a few social issues, but it's not her that's the problem this year. When your flight leaves out of south Chicago at 3:30 on Christmas Day, it's a bit difficult to make your standing 2 o'clock appointment in Bristol and so I find myself visiting them on Christmas Eve. If Eva and Adolf (the real ones) ever managed to make it past the honeymoon stage and actually spawned it would be my Uncle and, in the great scism between him and my father, he got Christmas Eve as his designated visitation night. For me, this means an hour and a half (i did manage to steal it down to that with only a minimum of lying) at my psycho Aunt's house exchanging awkward conversation with people i've only seen three times since I was 6 and trying to dodge the Gestapo.
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