elegantwaste's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- play that funky music white boy There isn't any better pain than that little ache in the back of your neck that comes after you have been sleeping for 10 or more hours. I've been sequestering myself in my room for the last few days, because people, no. I'll be like this until mid-january, at least. This is the time of year that I dread interaction with people, I skip out on things, and I stay home and read. In the last two days I've read Choke by Chuck Palahniuk, and Gabriel's Gift by Hanif Kureishi, two of my favourite writers for very different reasons. Both books, however, were about crazy parents, and a grown-up or growing-up child dealing with crazy parents. - Part of the reason I get crazy around Christmas is that my parents split up on Christmas Eve. Except, not really. The climax was then. I don't remember the fight, because I left the room and hid under my bed and turned on music, like I always did. I was 12, maybe, or 13. But I remember hearing my father go down the stairs to leave. And in my room, I just knew he wasn't leaving to go for a drive, or to go to the store. He was leaving. So I ran downstairs, into the garage, and he in his truck with the engine on, waiting for the garage door to open. I ran to his window and begged him not to leave. I told him to stay for me. He was crying, and I'd never seen him cry before. And he stayed. We watched a christmas movie and didn't talk, and we had christmas day and it was stilted and terrible, and my brother had been at his girlfriend's and didn't know what had happened, so he was confused, and I kept crying. Boxing Day, my mom left. She drove to Alberta where her relatives live so she could "clear her head". When she came back, after New Year's it was clear, and they were separated. None of this was a shock, since they had been fighting for years, had been sleeping in separate beds in separate rooms for months, but yes. I've been talking to people, and I realize that everybody has at least one traumatic Christmas/holiday-related story. And if you don't, you're one of those terrifyingly normal people with happy families where nothing ever happens to you, and if so, what are you doing on diaryland? So I have decided, this year, to get over it. My parent's divorce was a great, great thing, because I didn't ever have to hide under my bed again, I didn't have someone constantly on my case about my weight, when I did see my dad he was incredibly nice to me and still is, and my mom became an actual person who I can admire, instead of just a wife. Good good good. Of course, there are about 40 other reasons I hate Christmas. But one at a time, people. 11:08 a.m. - 2002-12-11 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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