Shortly before bed last night, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror – shirtless. I looked like I was 47 weeks pregnant. This morning was not much of an improvement. I’m ready for Christmas to be over. Well, wait. I want to have a good day tomorrow. Then, I want to grab Tabitha and get the hell back to my own (hotel) room.
Today was kind of odd. Not unexpected, though. I did exactly what I anticipated doing at Aunty Joyce’s house. Sit around, and do a whole lot of nothin’! What made today odd, was that I finally sat down to work through some old journal entries – the result of which was me essentially spending the entire day in the past.
From moment I came downstairs for breakfast, I was working on my laptop. By the way, that was around 10:30 a.m. this morning. I swear to God, it was as though the fucking world had ended. Excuse me for being nocturnal, and not wanting to rise at the crack of dawn every day. It’s for my family’s own benefit, too. The more sleep I get, the less they have to deal with an angry, sleep-deprived demon.
As I said, I spent most of the day working on my computer. This occurred at the kitchen table, in the TV room, and in Ashley’s bedroom. I was interrupted numerous times by various people and/or kitchen tasks as requested by Aunty Joyce. There were also multiple iMessage interludes with none other than RX – a character who seems to have made himself a new fixture in my life this holiday season.
RX started things off today. With a short text message, RX was letting me know that one of his nieces had received a Ken Doll for Christmas, and that his sister commented the toy looked like me. Isn’t that kind of funny? I realize that I was a part of RX’s life for a full year – five years ago – but when you look at it, I really only had a few in-person interactions with his family. That’s pretty wild, right? For them to still think of me – even mention me – means I must have made a decent impression.
In a way, I am somewhat flattered. Then again, I also made the ballsy move of buying all of RX’s nieces and nephews a gift the first time I met them. I was 21 when I did that. What kind of ridiculous? That’s a moment I look back on, which makes me realize that I have always been the most extra person I know. I fucking love it. That was actually so outrageous of me. I bought and delivered ten kids their own personally selected presents. Clearly, the gesture worked. I’m still a household name. RX’s sister still messages me multiple times a year. I kind of feel bad for guys who introduce me to their family. When we break up, it means they’ll have to hear my name for the rest of their lives.
Communication with RX is nice. I don’t feel enraged by his texts this time. Something has changed. There’s still a level of sass to RX’s messages, which I am fine with. At least he’s not being an asshole anymore. RX has been responding to all of my messages. On a few occasions, he’s even called me cute, pretty, or has sent things that are generally affectionate. I like it. I can’t get too wrapped up in the charm, though. As soon as RX goes back to work, I probably won’t hear from him until Easter. Of course, I don’t mind the attention right now.
Is this some sort of sick tradition we have? I’ll never forget how hard the first Christmas was after RX and I broke up. It was literally four years ago today that I was high on cough syrup and crying in a church pew over him. Later that night, I broke down again in the Walker’s basement while Aunty Joyce consoled me. I still miss RX. At least I’ve stopped crying about him, though. We’re making progress, people!
RX was talking about how he wanted to watch National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, but couldn’t find his DVD. It’s his favorite Christmas movie. I’d never seen it, so it was on my list to watch this year. To help RX out, I downloaded a copy of the film and sent it to him, which he liked. Oddly enough, we wound up watching the movie around the same time. It was cute!
Dinner rolled around. The families gathered in the kitchen, had a meal comprised of different appetizers, and laughed amongst one another. I declined alcohol once again, despite numerous offers of various of wines, beers, eggnogs, and spirits. I thought I was in the clear. Nope. While eating my eleventh piece of cheese bread, Uncle Will walked over and handed me a glass of white wine the size of my face.
“I insist,” he said. “Let me know how you like it.”
I smiled. I laughed nervously. I nodded. As I placed the goblet on the table, I saw Ashley look over at me. I didn’t touch that wine for the rest of the night.
I’m not pinning this recent sobriety kick on the Aaron and Sonny thing. In fact, while that situation may not yet be over and remains very traumatizing to me, there’s a part of me that is kind of pissed Aaron hasn’t closed things off yet. What is he waiting for? What kind of game is Aaron trying to play?
At this point, I want to remove myself from Aaron. I love him as a friend, but I don’t want to see him for a long time. I know that sounds fucked up. The fact is, I am extremely embarrassed over what happened. Even though Aaron’s been super friendly about everything – even liking my recent social media posts – that behavior makes me uncomfortable. Especially when I don’t know what the outcome of last weekend is. I guess they aren’t getting kicked out of their apartment? In an attempt to calm me down, Greg talked to his lawyer friend about housing and rental contracts. The lawyer said that there is no way Aaron and Sonny could be evicted because of what I did. Thank God.
I digress. The point I am trying to make is about alcohol. Plain and simple, I don’t want to drink. Maybe it’s a subconscious hangover, but part of this change is also body image stuff. I’ve been pigging out during every meal. I’ve been grabbing desserts like I’m a hypoglycemic about to have an episode. Thinking about washing all of that down with more calories is really unappetizing. Although I carried the wine glass around with me for a little bit, I never drank it. Eventually, I brought the drink into the bathroom and poured it down the sink.
I was so taken aback when Uncle Will handed me that drink. I mean, I get it. I’ve done that to people in my home as well. It’s a sign of a good host. The only difference is that I am not someone who shies away from asking for what they want. If I wanted wine, I would’ve been drinking it. Also, I’m not your average drinker. Uncle Will knows this. I mean, the guy was there when I broke a rib in a bathtub after getting fucked up pon de island in Punta Cana. This is where I become confused. I’ve always assumed that nobody in this family wants me to drink. I’m convinced that they all judge me for it. Now, I’m learning that they’ll go as far as putting alcohol in my hand when I refuse it 12 times.
Dinner wound down. Everyone played a game of dominoes – or whatever stupid thing it was that involved math. I didn’t score a 67% in university algebra so that I could sit around the kitchen table and do more math. Especially not on Christmas Eve! I took advantage of the rare opportunity for quiet time, and watched Mariah Carey Christmas videos in the TV room all by myself. It was perfect. Once the family finished their game, we watched Jingle All the Way.
As I am typing this, it’s 1:38 a.m. I’m ready to fall asleep. I’m bloated as all hell, but it’s Christmas tomorrow. Considering I have an elastic waistband on both my pajama pants and sweater, I am okay with a little extra water weight. I know I said it before, but the lack of alcohol really does help in these situations. I don’t feel as down and depressed about myself. There’s less regret, I suppose.
I don’t particularly enjoy a day completely devoted to reading and writing. At least, not when it comes to my journals. Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely love them. Even my own stories can wear me out, though.
Let me add up how many words I processed today. One second.
That’s what I worked through today – not including this entry. 5,189 words is an incredible amount of time spent in my own head. After a while, the reflection begins to take its toll. There are only so many areas of my own life and mind that I can analyze and write about. By the time I reach an entry like tonight’s, I feel spent. I’m fucking tired. I also start to think, “Who cares?”
Well, I do.
I really enjoy writing these journal entries. Although I can reach a point where I find certain subjects to be mundane or redundant/repetitive, guess what? That’s life! Life is fucking redundant. My only hope with each entry is to express a bit more of myself and purge the emotions that I keep buried inside of me. My struggles with alcohol. Body image issues. An ex-boyfriend that I can still see myself marrying. Perhaps even a few things that I actually like about myself, too.
It’s 2 a.m. I just rubbed one out to some of the hottest porn I’ve ever seen while under the covers in the deafening silence of this Mennonite bedroom. Now, my whole outlook on men has changed. Don’t fucking touch me!
Note to self: write these journals after masturbating.