Alone for the holidays

The holidays are a time for family and friends. People come together to celebrate the one time of the year where everything is made and designed to put a smile on the face of each and every person.

But, sometimes not everyone has a reason to celebrate. Even with over six billion people in the world, they feel alone because they’re single during the holidays.

A friend of the family has just separated from her husband (and is in the process of divorcing him) and this is the first time in almost 20 years that she will spend without him. It can be depressing, even for the most self-sufficient of people.

I’ll admit to feeling that pang of loneliness during this season. There’s no one there doing those cute and romantic things for me, buying a gift and wrapping it up because I saw it in a store window, and cuddling under a blanket while the snow falls outside.

My sister tells me she was alone for five years while studying for her medical degree. There was no one there. She didn’t have any roommates and family lived an hour away. There were friends, but most – if not all of them – were fellow students and also in the same situation.

I know I’m not the only person in the world who has gone though the same thing. I understand what she went through. And my case wasn’t the most extreme; there are no divorce proceedings or children involved.

Still, even with all the family and friends around, wishing you a merry Christmas, it would be nice to have someone there to make you feel just a little bit extra special because that’s something you can’t buy in a store.

Food = love

There is no point of wanting to lose weight - or trying to keep it off - during the holiday season. From the time the first morsel of food passes your lips, all hope is gone of maintaining your waistline.

Not only are your eyes stimulated by all the food you don't normally see throughout the year, but it never stops appearing in front of you, wanting to be nibbled on. So, you end up eating like food is about to go out of style.

Lunch becomes snack-time which becomes dinner which becomes after-dinner noshing. The cycle doesn't end for days. On top of that, you end up taking home enough leftovers to last you another week.

Food symbolizes love for many families. Mothers typically prepare feasts which are able to feed family, friends and the possible guest who passes through the doors. Why? The more food there is, the more love.

And, like most of the people in the world who celebrate Christmas like my family (i.e. food = love), is the reason why I'm about to burst.

It's Christmas, obviously

Merry Christmas! Now, go back to your presents.

Last minute holiday shopping

The stores are busy during the holiday season. People are running around like mad, trying to get a hold of something, anything for that person on their list who doesn’t have a gift. And, it gets worse a couple of days before Christmas.

I never understood the appeal of last-minute shopping. It’s a rush to some, but a pain in the ass to everyone else. Crowds bother me. My purchases were done at the end of November. True, I didn’t have 100 gifts to buy. I just went out on a weekend and ran around until I had almost everything.

When I spoke to my sister about her holiday shopping, she told me she didn’t have anything major purchased. She works and doesn’t have the time - and energy - to go out and spend several hours in the middle of the week to shop for gifts (unlike me).

Now, the only thing I have to worry about is wrapping them up. That’s probably the bigger problem. There are the bags, the ribbon, the bows, the cards you write people’s name on and all of that incessant measuring that goes along with trying to make one roll of paper last forever.

By the way, does anyone have some tape...?

I will never be homeless, again

When I lived at home with my parents, they would always threaten me with the possibility of kicking me out if I didn’t agree with them when we fought.

“If you don’t like it, there’s the door,” was the line they would often use.

They never did kick me out because I always called their bluff. Who would throw someone they love out? No one would ever do that. As it turns out, they can because it happened to me.

When I was thrown out onto the street by Crazy, I didn’t have a place to live. I was homeless. I had nowhere to go, nowhere to live; I was still in negotiations with realtors, so the roof over my head didn’t exist.

It took a few months, but things changed for the better. Now, I have my own place. A two-story loft in downtown, close to every major amenity I wanted. And, it’s mine. The documents say I am the one and only owner and the mortgage payments are being made by me. It’s mine, all mine.

Now, I make the rules. I’m the boss. I’m the one with the power. If someone doesn’t like it, they’ll know where the door is.

And, there is no way I’m going to lose this place. I’d rather make other sacrifices in my life before giving up on this one. I’ll go without eating. I’ll go without buying clothes. I’ll go without entertainment (movies, shows, etc.). I’ll probably even go without TV for a while (but only if I am really, really desperate).

To paraphrase Scarlett O’Hara at the end of Gone With The Wind, as God is my witness, I will never be homeless, again.

Vodka is evil

Although I drink professionally for a living, it’s not every day when I have to drink a day’s worth of alcohol in about 2.5 hours. And, because of that, I now hate vodka.

Look me in the eye

Even though I can be confrontational at times, I don’t like to stare people down. It’s true the eyes are the windows to one’s soul and I like to look them in the eyes to see what they’re feeling. It’s not a mind-game.

But very few people can look me in the eye when I'm talking to them about something they did wrong. Apparently, my face is on the floor because that’s the one spot they focus on for an entire conversation.

The reason why they do this is because they know they did something wrong. They don’t want to admit to their mistakes or take the blame for them. Strangely enough, even the most vocal ones don’t even have the gall to look me in the eye in a display of defensiveness. Does anyone have any balls, anymore?

Even when I do something wrong (which is rare), I stand tall and admit to my errors. If I’m the captain and the Titanic crashed into that iceberg because of me, then I am going down with the ship, not push everyone out of the way to get to a life vest and dinghy.

I’m an adult, and if I can look you in the eye, you should at least grow up and do the same.

Buying a Christmas present for my mother

It’s the time of year I dread the most because of what I have to do for some people. It’s not about favours, but favourite things. Yes, it’s the time for holiday shopping.

It’s easier shopping for my father than for my mother. He really doesn’t need anything and he’s appreciative of any little gift he receives. For her, it’s different.

I ask her what she wants and, as usual, she says, “Nothing.” After a little pushing, she tells me she would like a nightgown. Another one. It’s not like she doesn’t have a dresser full of them she never wears. In fact, the ones she does wear are so threadbare they border on sheer. But, I leave it alone and follow up with a series of questions because there are thousands of options in the marketplace.

“Do you want it long, short, with sleeves, without, two pieces, one, a dressing gown, cotton, polyester, silk, colours...?” I keep on going and see she’s rolling her eyes at me.

“Just buy me a nightgown.”

“Fine.” It’s not going to be easy. Me, on the other hand, is the type of person who will give you the size, colour, shape, price, and location within the store of what to get me. If it’s something I want/need, then I will be exact. I’d rather not anything at all then get something I don’t want and will, in fact, end up being useless to me and wasteful.

In the end, I’m saving everyone a lot of time and energy. But, when it comes to my mother, I’ll probably just get her a gift certificate to save me the hassle. She can be so picky.

In one month

It will be my birthday in one exactly month. January 10 is the day where I turn the same age... again. But, I tend to hate birthdays. Not because of the fact I am turning older, but because of the meaning of birthdays, in general.

For some reason, every year, I either spend the day alone, or I end up planning something that inevitably turns into something to please everyone else, leaving me in an emotional lurch.

This year I planned everything. It was tiring. A bunch of people - including Crazy and some friends - went out in an intense snowstorm to a club. It was pretty good, but could've been better. I spent too much time making sure everyone else was happy. True, it was my birthday, but it was like I was celebrating it for others, not myself.

The year before, I spent the entire day alone, walking in the city by myself. Depressing in another form altogether.

Will I plan everything, or do nothing? Will I celebrate alone, or with people? Will I be unhappy or depressed? Who knows? I’ll have to wait another month and see what happens.

Ring the fire alarm

For the past two days, the fire alarm was being tested in my building. It has been beeping off and on for hours. It’s not a constant, regular noise. It’s sporadic. Just when you think it’s over, it starts again.

At first, it’s annoying. The high pitch beep runs through your head and down your spine, pulling at all your nerves, making you twitch because of the impending repetition of beeps. Then, it just starts to make you go crazy.

Even with several Tylenols, it doesn’t make a difference. The beeping is now ringing in my head. I’d rather have an actual fire in the building because at least it would mean the ringing would stop after a half-hour.

I still wouldn’t leave, though. It’s too cold outside.

Crumbled

Not too long ago, my nieces came over (with my sister) for a visit to my place. They run around the place, they laugh, they screech, they climb over everything. Basically, they're acting like kids.

My sister gives them each a cookie when they're finished their lunch. They snack on them for a bit while sitting/walking around. After a few minutes, I see white flecks on my walnut-stained hardwood floors. They're crumbs. Everywhere. My nieces aren't messy, but the cookies practically fall apart the second you touch them.

I want to take the cookies and put them on plates, but I know my nieces won't use them. So I keep myself busy with other things, like talking to my sister and taking care of lunch.

When they leave, I pull out the vacuum and clean. I go back and forth in the same spots, but the crumbs don't disappear. It feels like I'm doing the same motions for hours. The crumbs are everywhere! I won't even mention the upholstery. It's as if they're embedded in there.

While I'm doing all of this, it hits me: I'm turning into my mother. She's the sort of person who will neurotically clean something for hours even though it's futile. What's the point of trying if it's going to get dirty again? is a thought that crosses my mind on occasion. But, I don't do that and carry on with my cleaning.

Now I know the next time the kids come over, they're not allowed to eat anything.

Stubbed ub

Even after the cold subsides and you’re able to sleep at night without waking up to a runny nose, there is still the aftermath that you have to deal with. For me, it’s the congestion.

To be honest, I can’t wait until this period because it means that the cold is – mostly – over and that I can carry on with life without having to carrying a package of Kleenex everywhere I go. But, it’s also a pain in the neck (or is it throat?) because I can barely breathe.

There’s a thick, gooey liquid that emanates from my nostrils and/or mouth when I blow my nose and/or cough. When I breathe, I can’t. When I talk, I can’t. The congestion has moved into my head and it’s not leaving, even if it hasn’t paid the rent and should be kicked out by the landlord.

What’s worse is that when I try to talk, it rises up my throat and I begin to choke. I can barely get a couple of words out before hacking like an old man with emphysema. It isn’t a pretty sight to see, or listen to.

So, what do I do? Nothing. I live with it until it goes away, or that I’ve spewed out the last ounce of phlegm in my system.

That should last until March, approximately.

Soft loft profile

While skimming through one of the city’s free weekly papers, I come across a page that’s profiling the owner of a loft, not too far away from my own. It’s decorated nicely, with attention paid to the smallest of details. And it’s expensive.

As I scan the images, I see the guy in the article. I know him. He has a position that is almost the same as mine and he works at a national lifestyle company. And, he’s younger than me. By a few years.

How the hell did he ever achieve all of this by this age? No one can do that. Against my better judgement, I clock it off as a reason of money (i.e. not his own, but his parents’) that got him where he is because no one can buy a place like that with a low five-figure salary.

After that moment of clarity, I fold the paper in half and promptly recycle it. It’s a depressing news day.