What's Christmas without a little angst?
I get lonely at Christmas, and I don't really have a reason, nor do I know exactly what I'm lonely for. I'm with my family. We've been having a relatively good time. All I know is it's such a relief to have it all done, the presents and the cookies, and the (lack of) parties and cute Christmas photos of beautiful children. I'm not big on surprises (though I've gotten some good ones, mostly in tiny velvet boxes). I could whinge on about how I got invited to two Christmas parties this year and only made one, while I know folks who are going-going-going all the days and nights long, three open houses per day, plays and ballets, special dinners with friends and families, travelling, that sort of thing. But that's not quite it.
I get temporary reprieves. Church. Dinner with friends. Movies. An hour of writing. Shopping at the crowded mall with every Hispanic family in Colorado. (I know what you're thinking and you're wrong. I'd much rather shop with Hispanics, or do anything crowded with Hispanic people. They're a very polite, family-oriented culture. That's why it was a reprieve.)
But loneliness slips back in, insidious as a tapeworm, gnawing at the edges of the joy of the season. Is it the dissonance between what is and what should be? Is it the two very kind, personal, this-isn't-right-for-us- but-please-send-us-more rejections in two days? Is it the significant economic instability? Or is it end of the year blues, when I look back and realize I've accomplished so little that the New Year holds little hope?
Maybe it's just plain depression.
Ick. People are starving and I need to buck up.
Sorry. Commencing bucking up.
Whatever my imaginary woes, have Merry Christmases, Beautiful Hanukkahs, and the Happiest of New Years!