Says my sad sack uncle, in his Cream t shirt.
I'm blogging undercover, which is out in the middle of the living room of my Aunt's house on Christmas day. Watching the Celtics game with my cousin's husband. He's a really nice guy wearing white socks and drinking Sam Adams, quietly and occasionally asking me to check the weather for the supposed storm tomorrow.
My two grandmothers are wearing red sweaters and talking loudly to each other. I worry about them.
My mom and my cousin are talking about my mom's ex husband, who is an old drunken spinster at this point. They've been divorced for a very long time and she rarely speaks of him, if at all. But she's freaking out about imagining a life with him. We spotted him about a month ago at my cousin's wedding. My mom is strained, stressed at the thought of a life with the ruddy, lonely man she barely recognized. My cousin keeps chiming in, "But it wouldn't have been like that. It's not the same." It's very absurd to see my mom worked up about a man she hadn't seen in 30 years.
My sister is talking about her lovable illegal immigrant Irish drug selling boyfriend to my mom's hippie friend, Debbie. Debbie is being calm and understanding while my sis laments the late night phone calls from dealers and the fact that he doesn't pay his parking tickets and ripped the boot off his car. She's afraid he'll be deported. She's probably right.
Dad and Debbie's husband Warren and my uncle are lamenting my father's lawsuit. His nonprofit adult education business was fucked over by the city's school system and the lawsuit has been in affect for over 10 years. They've just begun trials and it's looking grim for dad.
As for me, my period hit me this morning like a freight train of blood. I was really happy and relieved because I always think I'm pregnant. I took a load of cum right after I took my nuva ring out a few days ago and I was sure that would stew itself into twins or triplets or some horrible shit. But no, blood arrived, thank god. And now I'm bleeding through my tampon and underwear and trying to plug myself up with toilet paper. Forcing drippy lasagna into my face is unappealing right now.
I'm gulping klonopin every few hours to keep my queasy stomach/vein-bulging pulse/tight muscles/rapid heartbeat under control. I'm anxious thinking about the guy I'm dating, or not dating, which basically heads all of my anxiety at the moment. I'm kicking myself for even thinking about it and letting it get to me.
I'm sucking macaroons out of my teeth.
Baby monitors are crackling and then suddenly the babies appear, and they smell like poopy. The cousins I grew up with closely are much older than me. They're in their 30s now, married, babied. There are 3 toddlers stumbling around. They're cute. They're very tiny. Gap jeans are cuffed on Aiden and he can barely walk. I know he wants to be naked.
It was quite a sight to see three babies aged 2 and 1 years old receive over 10 gifts each last night on Christmas eve. All they could understand was picking up objects, tearing them, and then throwing them down. What was really strange was seeing my cousins, my friends, coo and goo while flipping pages of a coloring book and say " Look Emma! Book! Coloring book! For Emma! Wow!" Being a parent to young babies is bizarre.
5 pies appear on the table and barely anyone touches them. Are pies irrelevant ? My uterus is swishing full of blood and cramps are pricking me and I can't move. I have to go to work tomorrow. Heart pings in pain. Look for another pill to take. Keep gulping the red wine until my skin tingles.
My parent's Jew friends are decked in cowboy boots and cactus jewelry. They sit idly and very politely. It must be nice to not have to sit among your own family sometimes.
We're just doing what we always do, family robotics. Hugs, appetizers, TV set, chatter, slyly text someone, and end up in a heated conversation about something highly un-Christmasy. Trying to enjoy the relative clash, which always seems harder than it really is. I want to plug myself up with more stiff cotton, grab a slice of my down comforter, take some downers and magically receive a call from the boy I adore. What a Christmas miracle that would be.
I come home, plug myself, steal a pill from my dad, and pull myself under the covers. Avoid my sweet faced sister as she asks me to spend time with her. I am somehow frozen and radiating at the same time, emotionally deadened but ready to snap at any moment.
I catch 3 minutes of online conversation with dream boy. I gain .5 points of satisfaction but mostly feel like shit about it. He doesn't really care about me.
I suck down a vodka drink and no one cares because I'm old enough to drink. I hope the pills take effect soon. I debate on another drink, for the warm tingle buzz, or a shot of Nyquil.
ALCOHOL PRO:
Warmth
Buzz
Gradual incoherency
NYQUIL PRO:
Sedation
Slight hallucination
One shot will do it
ALCOHOL CON:
Takes too long to drink properly
Can't get too drunk at home
Spins
NYQUIL CON:
Puts me to deep sleep fairly quickly
Can't multitask while sedated
I wish I still had the hydrocodone syrup. That shit was so good, so tasty, so heavy. It made me itchy, but I loved it. I miss it.
I guess I could do both. It's Christmas.