You surround me like oxygen

The other day, there was a video posted about Christmas, with an accompanying tweet about "what do YOU like about Christmas?"

My initial reaction was anger. Betrayal,almost. Why? Why would I feel betrayed by this... a simple question.

With an all too simple, slightly insane, and definitely full of demons, answer.

When I was little, I loved Christmas. Who didn't? Most kids adored the time. There was pretty lights and candy canes and snowmen and snowfights and hot cocoa and, of course, good old Santa Clause. And my parents always got me awesome presents. I can't think of a time when I was disappointed or mad. They always tried so hard to give me a great holiday, and they succeeded (At least, as much as my 24 year old brain can remember.)

And then, as I grew older... as I saw life and experienced it, I grew to dislike the holiday. Why? Why would I hate a holiday that I once adored?

Because it is a holiday based on the principle of Christmas cheer. It is about warmth and happiness and giving and togetherness. And while the rest of the world enjoyed their happy-go-lucky holiday and their time with loved ones...

I sat.
Alone.

Yes, that's a little over simplified and over-dramatic. I know. But this links in with another demon I face as a 24 year old.

I am scared, utterly terrified, of losing the people I care about the most.

How, you might be saying, do these things link together? There's no commonality.

Ah, but there is.

Once upon a time I was a kid who was growing up and loved life. I had friends. I played. I was good at school/undeniably smart for my age. I had fun. I was a bully of sorts. My dad was never home and my mom was incapable of even holding a phone to her ear. But I loved my mom (and still do, obviously) and I didn't mind. She was the binding force of my life. She made everything make sense. She was the one who mentored me.

And, like that, she was gone.

So it started when I was 12, albeit it was very faint. My father, bless his soul, did what he could. But sometimes when bad things happen, you turn to the only thing you know. In his case, that would be alcohol. A... a lot of alcohol. It wasn't a Saturday night unless he was gone, out drinking. He sort of gave up on life. His 12 year old daughter had boys sleeping over, usually two at a time, and he didn't care. He'd sign a check for us for dinner and take his leave. Usually to stumble back in the door a little after 2. Sometimes he wouldn't come home at all.

The first few months of this were hell. I literally had no one. Remember, I was the pseudo-bully in class. People respected me out of fear. I swore a lot. I was a Tuff Kid. Inside, I was just... I was devastated. I failed school that year. I had no friends to confide in. The boys liked me because I was Tuff and Kool like them. The girls... well, fear.

I didn't tell people my feelings. I refused. I would never be so weak and, to this day, it's a thing I hate doing. Though, you'd never know it.

How could I, a 12 year old, possibly vocalize to anyone in my pretentious Catholic school the fear and agony of waiting up until 3am on a Sunday just to make sure your dad comes home? How can you possibly instill the emotions of crying yourself to sleep because you've already lost one parent and you never, ever see the other? Save for maybe a few fleeting moments after school. How do you explain to other 12 year olds who's biggest concern is N'SYNC or BSB what it's like to constantly fear hearing a knock on the door, only to see an officer tell you you're an orphan.?

It was from that moment that I began to attach myself to people.

Wait, no. It was that moment that I refused to attach myself to people. I think it took me a year to get to 'clingy jerkoff that never leaves'.

It was, of course, at this point that I spent most of my time alone. I had nothing anymore. My dad was gone all the time. My mom was gone forever. My friends had families and other friends. I had me. That's it.

Every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, every anything... I was alone. Probably eating frozen pizza and watching cartoons. Or softcore porn. It's amazing what they'll show on Cinamax and HBO after midnight.

I can think of one time in the last eleven years when I was legitimately (thought quietly) excited about Christmas. My reasons were selfish, sure. But I was happy and I went with it. It's amazing how being around people I love and care about can do that.

I don't hate Thanksgiving because I can watch football and distract myself. I request to work every year on Christmas because everyone has families to go to. People to see. Massive amounts of food to eat. I work every year on Christmas because I have absolutely no reason not to. Otherwise I sit and home and wonder what the fuck has gone wrong in my life to reduce me to a brooding, clingy taintstick.

And then I answer myself with a blog at 3am when I was ready for bed four hours ago. I amaze myself.

So, yes, I felt betrayed. Because, once again, Christmas has left me fucked and alone.

Is it a selfish reaction? Of course. Humans are selfish by nature. Is it a logical reaction? Eh. I guess with everything I just laid out, maybe. Is it rational? Not really. But then again, with a mind like mine, I've gotta have some weaknesses, right?

But, yes. That's why I hate Christmas. Because I am emotionally unstable and clingy and I secretly hate being alone.

God help us if I revert back to the silent, brooding, loner that I once was. I am a perfect and normal human being at this point compared to that. (And, thank-you-very-much I think I have been doing mostly awesome lately.)

And just when YOU think you know what to expect, here's this blog. Have fun lifting it. It's heavy.

[boom]

I'm saying something that I should have never thought

Well, this weekend was interesting, now wasn't it?

I was going to call you, blog, but I figured you just spent an entire weekend with me getting black out drunk, punching, laughing, wrestling, and apparently undressing me. We have the weirdest of friendships.

So I didn't call. I could call tomorrow. But there's something I've gotta get off my chest. I'd like to say it to you in person, but unfortunately I had to work and you were hung over. Not the best time for talking.

Trust me, I would have stayed if I could have. Fuck work. I'd rather hang out with you.

Anyway. On to my cool words I have to say.

For what it's worth, I don't think you're a whore.

I want to explain myself because I don't feel that I actually justified why I said what I said. Not that I should justify it. It's kind of a shitty thing to say. Which is why I got punched in the face. (Which is going to be my new favorite story of all time).

I recall saying something about how you think you know exactly what the score is when it comes to my thoughts and feelings and you gave me that classic Emily look. That's not a fight I want to argue right now, but I wanted to bring it up because it kind of ties in.

Think back to when you asked me if it was weird that the thought of Josh having a girlfriend makes you a little jealous. Not jealous because you want to date him yourself, jealous because he's YOUR friend. It makes sense. A lot of people feel that way about the people closest to them. And Josh and you have a history in that you've known each other a long time. He's one of those "closest to you", if I'm not mistaken (and I'm not.)

So, take these things and put them together. I was angry because I drove two and a half hours down and here you are talking about all these people you wanted to invite. You know how I feel about Patrick. Habacuc is whatever to me. This new guy? Fuck that guy because I hate guys anyway.

I got jealous because I drove to see you and you just wanted to go see other people. I was hurt because, obviously you wouldn't have cared if I stayed or went. My vindictive, angry, tequila-driven side came out and the first thing I wanted to do was hurt you like I was hurt. I was angry so I wanted to make you angry. The easiest way to dig into you was, apparently, to call you a whore.

-I- wanted your attention. I don't get to see you and I wanted your attention and fuck all of those other guys because they can see you whenever they want to see you. I have to ask off work and drive for two and a half hours. Fuck those guys, this is my time.

And that totally makes me sound like... a fucking moron. It's not like I want a stronghold of every second of your day. I just don't get to see you often (until I move, hopefully) and I want to get in as much fun time with you as I can before I have to make that shitty drive all the way to a place I don't want to be. The drive home is the worst, despite my nerves on the drive down.

Much like your mild jealousy of Sammy (Didn't think I'd forget, did you?), I too am prone to being jealous.

I do hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.

Also, I'm not so much apologizing for saying it as I am explaining it. Like you said, we're even. I just... I dunno. The look in your eyes when you said "You really think I'm a whore, don't you?" just kind of got to me. Probably because of all my Catholic guilt I have saved up. We were both too sleepy and drunk, though, for me to string together a coherent response.

At the risk of sounding like a tool, I am really thankful that we have the kind of friendship we have. Even if we fight, even if it's kind of a bad fight, we're still up until 7am drinking and laughing and having fun. It's kind of our thing. That's what we do. 7am is the shit, yo.

I don't know that I've ever been more comfortable in a friendship as I am in this one. It's kind of weird. I mean, yeah, Matt and I are close and have that bromance going on. Heather and Sam are cool. Sammy just fucking -gets it-. But I can hide one thing or another all day when it comes to them. You're the only one that I'm a totally open book to. At times, much to both of our dismay.

So thanks for putting up with me and letting me put up with you. It's crazy that some random cute girl in my philosophy classes turned out to be so important to me in the long run. That's pretty neat. Hopefully we'll be annoying, teasing, pestering, drinking with, laughing, secret-telling, and having fun with each other for a long time. Somehow, I'm not worried about that.

Wow! This got kind of stupid and sappy. That's retarded.

Let me end on these two notes:
1. If you don't know the song in the title, I'm going to be so sad at you.
2. You're every bit as funny, intelligent, and hot as Sammy is. And you know it. My little narcissist.

[boom]

P.S. I found this while fucking around online and, naturally, I thought of you.

I'm captivated by you, baby, like a fireworks show

I've finally stopped playing Madden for long enough to do some of my writing that I keep telling people I'm going to do.

So, naturally, I found myself here.

And I won't hear any guff about me liberally using the term "regularly scheduled" when it took almost a full month for a comment. So, hush you.

I'm so goddamn bored. I wish I had friends who would stay up with me and drink until obscene times in the morning. Is that... is that weird? Should I wish for that? I think it's kind of weird. But everyone knows that I'm a functional alcoholic.

It's alright. Next weekend I get to be among my people. Drunks. The whole lot of you.

I shouldn't be so excited.

I am.

My cats found a bunny slipper to play with. This humors me.

Tonight my friends and I were exchanging stories. They started out with a reason, but quickly dissolved into silly things like we do. They got me talking about some of my favorite sex memories.

I got distracted a lot.

What? Don't fucking grin at me like that, blog. I'm just being honest. And I heard roughly zero-point-zero complaints at the time. So, again I say, hush you.

Jesus, I can't believe I totally skipped the month of August. Sorry, August. I just like September more. Nothing personal.

(It's totally personal.)

I'm torn between staying sober and writing or getting drunk and writing. And let's be honest; there is no competition here.

Jesus I have problems.

Oh well!

I told Matt today that after bonuses I might try to get a job down in Madison and make the commute. Matt asked me why I wouldn't just move down there. I have no real good answer except I couldn't afford a place on my own and I think living with Josh and Kristin would be terrible in the long run. Maybe even the short run. I get irritated with them easily when I have to spend a lot of time with them. Not good.

On the other hand, I don't really want to wait until next summer to move. I really want to get out of here as soon as possible. I just don't know what to do. I would feel bad leaving Sam because she isn't ready, but I can't... I just can't.

When I walk up to the building, before clocking in, and I'm already getting angry. When I can feel my heart beat start to run up. When I can feel my blood pressure rising. When I can feel the headache creep up on me... I can't do it anymore.

What do I do? I can't just wait for things to fall in my lap so I can move down there, but I can't stay here. What to do, what to do?

Maybe I should forgo drinking and get some sleep.

We both know I won't.

Like Ted said, "Fuck."

When I actually think of where I want to be in my life, it gives me a headache. How in the fuck am I almost 24 and I have NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING.

Right. We're done with this. I'm done thinking about this right now. I'm going to go do anything else right now.

[boom]