A big, giant, weird Christmas

It's Christmas, right? I'm aware of this by the date and the fact that my mother and I have made a ham and a potato casserole and have the makings of two other casseroles to be assembled tomorrow. I'm not ashamed to admit, I cried a little tonight. Christmas is all akimbo these last few years for me, and this year, I'm sort of non-soluble and writing IOUs for presents. I am at once feeling like a huge douche bag and a liberated human being. Yes, weird.

Every Christmas since my father died, this marks #4, I don't deal terribly well with this holiday. I've recounted things that stuck in my head from my dad to my mom, and she doesn't remember. I can't speak to what resonates with whom, but I have very distinct memories of cooking Christmas Eve dinner at our house and then Christmas dinner at my grandmother's, after early-morning Santa.

My mom didn't even remember when I learned Santa didn't exist. I pried it out of my dad, but I think he was ready to relinquish the late night/early morning Santa duties. I just remember thinking that my parents were giant liars. When I figured out that "Santa" would continue bringing presents, I was pretty much okay, but I do think I asked my dad  how he could be okay with blatantly lying to me. I think he coughed and stuttered and muttered something about wonderment. I just thought they were giant liars.

I was talking to my mom tonight. I think I found about Santa when I was about 8, and I really later questioned how stupid I could be, to believe the whole one man delivering presents to the whole world in one night. How did I buy that? It seemed implausible, but I think it was my last belief in otherworldly magic, that which I could not fully understand, like maybe he and God were working together. It's a giant conspiracy, really, the Santa Tracker on the news, and unless you're a giant asshole, you're keeping that secret from children until you're told otherwise.

Sure, if I have children, I'll let them believe in Santa. I think it encourages wonderment and the belief in magical possibilities. It gives them that glimpse into things that cannot be explained, and that's a good thing. My dad used to attach jingle bells from "the sleigh" to our windows and jingle them when he thought we were sleeping. He only used cursive writing to write "as Santa," because he never wrote in cursive writing, and he and I watched the original Grinch every year. I want to sit and watch it with him so bad, it aches inside me, and I miss his smart-ass sense of humor, that he passed down to me, and no one else in the family gets. So, I settle for my memories and the knowledge that I was loved by him, and he would not want me to wallow and be sad. I just want to hear his voice say my name, but I will settle for his camp recordings and pictures and countless memories and the fact that he knew that I loved him more than anything, and that feeling was completely reciprocated.

I don't like this Christmas. I'll be fine. I get to go nuts with my niece and nephew, and they are precious and my loves and think I'm awesome (for now). I just want to make their Christmas awesome, and I'll deal with my holiday psychosis later. Christmas is for the little people. I enjoyed a handful of adult Christmases, and I'll adjust to enjoying more. Just not maybe this year. Have YOURselves a Merry little Christmas. Everyone deserves it.

Would anyone like a series of good thoughts for Christmas? It's all I can afford.

I am pretty well freaking the hell out. I am moving in 8 days, and I have only now, at this time, come to appreciate the pure lunacy of that. I have no job and like $200 to my name. God bless my coddling mother, or I would be living with a troll under one of the many fine bridges in Birmingham. I do have a very promising job prospect, and hopefully, God is granting me favor after the last shit-kicker of a year and timing everything perfectly so that everything works out just right.

It is absolutely ridiculously expensive to move. To even have your basic utilities activated takes about $300, not to mention the additional security and pet deposits, and pro-rated rent. Oh, and they now require you to have renter's insurance. We bitch about making medical insurance mandatory, but no peeps about mandatory renter's insurance. Hmmm...Kinda makes our priorities a little skewed, if you ask me, but no one did.

I found an endless supply of boxes at the liquor store, but then realized, when wrapping dishes, I have no newspaper. AUGH. Luckily, most of the boxes seem to have individual dividers, but I'm not above using towels or clothes, because if I have to spend one more cent on this move, I'll be the poorest resident living near the Summit.

I've started to think in really bizarre terms, like, what could I sell? I'm already trying to sell my wedding dress, and the only response I got was a weird Craig's List answer about using a cashier's check or something. On a related note, I've decided Craig's List is basically just a cyber meeting place for flim-flammers and giant weirdos. Yes, I said flim flammers. Every job I pursued on there turned out to be a "home-based" one where I would have to deposit money in my account for some nefarious shipping purposes, and every apartment involved swingers, pre-operative transvestites who did not sound fun at all, or people who were fine with themselves owning 11 cats, but not a roommate bringing a small dog.

I could probably sell my blood or plasma, if they still do that. Dammit that I'm not a guy. I would sell my sperm in a heartbeat. That has to be the easiest money you could make. Not invasive, no needles involved...you're gonna be doing that anyway; you may as well get paid for it. Unfortunately, I am not a particularly valuable commodity. If you could get paid for arguing or knowing the state capitals or owning too many shoes, I'm golden, but truly, I would be sunk in a barter society.

Alas, I will have to just console myself with the fact that shortly, I will be the independent state of Emily again, broke or not, and have a new space and a new start and God help me, a new job. The order of things will once again be restored, and I won't have 17 insurance agents calling me with renter's insurance quotes or be paying $200 for a water bill, which includes the actual bill, along with my blood vow to give them a kidney or my first-born in the event I can't pay. Isn't that what Rumpelstiltskin wanted? I think they're all in this mess together.

What doesn't kill you ....I think I finally made it to that second category

Today has been a day. Piper is so hyper from her post-spaying comfort that she is acting like a squirrel on crack, I found out that I WILL have a place to live once the house closes, and I am either getting sick or seriously fighting it. I find that my life seems to be a series of a lot of nothing happening and then something cataclysmic occurs, and we are off to warp speed. I also have either destroyed or Piper had a hand in destroying probably my 9th phone charger this year. I detest this phone, and have spent an estimated total of $100 just on chargers this year. A plague on Samsung's house.

I admit; I sort of thought I might be homeless come house closing date. I have no job; true, my mom is co-signing, but luck has not been my particular strong suit in the last few years. I'm not a pessimist, truly. I'm the one who always tries to infuse humor into the situation, but I feel sometimes like a lot of really funny/extroverted people have expressed they feel: It can be exhausting. I do NOT want anyone to worry about me. I think there are so many other important things in the world on which to focus your concern. Even if I genuinely need worry and concern, I'll tell you that I'm fine.

Is this a bad thing? I dunno. I depended on someone to comfort and console me, and that didn't turn out so great. I don't want to be a distant, cold person, and frankly, I don't think I actually know how to do that, much to my probable imminent demise....death by caring. My grandmother always told me that I was too sensitive, and I never really thought about what that meant, until recently.

I care and love with my whole heart. What you see is what you get. I've always found that to be one of my better qualities, and people that love me have, too. However, I could see where that might've gotten me into trouble. If you love and trust with your whole heart, you get stomped and squished that way, too. What is a girl to do? Be distant and build walls or just jump in to the deep end, regardless?

Speaking of the deep end, I'll tell you a little story. When I was about 7, I went to the public pool for a friend's birthday party. There was a high dive, whose height I couldn't fully gauge, like a standard high dive. No one, would dive from it, no boy, girl, or adult. I said, "Whatever," and dove perfectly into the water. It felt like my skull hit knives when I connected with the water, but I still remember seeing astonished faces as I resurfaced. That's how I want my life to be.

To my detriment, possibly, but I don't do tentative, and I don't do shy and wallflower-esque. I'm no Popeye, but I truly "am what I am." I've figured out, FINALLY, at 36 years, that if you don't like me, the real me, the one that I always project, then that's your problem, not mine. You are not going to turn me into Martha Stewart or June Cleaver or anyone other than Emily Beryl Gaither. I will not make myself small to fit into any more boxes. That is done.