A clarification, if I may
I suppose I made last night’s post sound a lot like I don’t want to go home for Christmas. I do. I really, really do for a variety of reasons.
I love my family. I love that they drive me crazy and I love that they make me feel safe. I love that my mom decorates anything that will sit still and that the entire house smells like cookies and Christmas and home. I love that my parents invite people I’ve never met over to have Christmas dinner with us. I love that my brother and I sit around and talk after our parents go to bed. I love that my brother follows me around everywhere I go. I love the fireplace and the neverending fountain of booze and the cookies and my mom’s cooking and good lord, that yipping ball of fur named Lester.
I left about three boxes behind last Christmas when I came to North Carolina. These are three boxes full of things I brought with me from California and didn’t have room for after obtaining my strawberry flatware, Christmas gifts, and removing everything from the car because keeping it all in the car on the driveway for three or four weeks made me nervous. Also, I needed some of that stuff. I need to repack those boxes and ship them home to me. I also need to really, actually, finally go through everything I left in Oklahoma when I moved to California in 2001. I mean, clearly I don’t need about 95% of it. But it still needs to be sorted through.
I miss my friends. We’ve gone our separate ways and have become our own people but they’re still my friends and I still love them and I still want to see them. They remind me of how things were Before and their nostalgia is my nostalgia and really, who else can possibly understand the magnitude of being locked out of the shiny new alumni building when hello, WE ARE CLEARLY ALUMNI YOU HALFWITS.
I want to visit my past. I need to scan pictures, death certificates, birth certificates, Bible pages, and news articles. I need to find those cemeteries and take pictures of the headstones so I can say, “This is where I come from.” and maybe for once in my life not worry about where I’m going. If I could force myself into another time, I would. But since I can’t, this is the closest I can come.
It isn’t caving to my incredibly pathetic desire to go somewhere else.
Can’t shake this blush of indifference. Welcome to the winter of our discontent indeed.