The Diary of Queen Mothy |
The Ghost of Christmas Past written @ 3:46 PM on December 22, 2003 I spent most of the weekend under a secret co-op to move Jessica out of her Ball State dorm (Indiana, mind you) and all the way to Christine's new apartment (way down South in Kentucky... okay, maybe not so "way down South."). Esmeralda, my car, is very confused and exhausted but otherwise exhilarated that she got to go further West than she and her mistress (c'est moi) have ever traveled. Jessica not-so-meticulously divided all her belongings into what was really hers and what really belonged to her mother. Today she was supposed to have called me because I still have "what really belonged to her mother" sitting in Esmeralda's back seat. She was also supposed to have broke the news to her folks that she was flying the coop. But, alas, I have heard naught from my partner in crime. This can mean a number of things: 1) she's doing other moving preparations and has therefore been unable to answer her cell phone, or 2) there's been some trouble on the home front, i.e. the parental units have chained her to her room and have taken all communication impliments away. My better angel is hinting to me that there's been some trouble, so if you ever get to read this, dear Jessica, please give your dear Sammy a call. *drumming fingers on the table* Hmm. In any case, helping Jessica move her stuff out has really inspired me to turn over a new leaf in my life. "In what way?" you may ask. In one word: "Simplified." I am a natural pack rat, a throw back from ancient man's tendancies to want to accumulate more wealth and gather supplies for clans members in the face of the oncoming winter. But as my inner philosophy dictates that as an artist I can't be overly concerned with wealth and I have very little kin left to gather supplies for, this has led me to seriously take a look at everything I own and ask a big question: Is all this really necessary? (Because I tend to eat and clean things when I'm bored, too.) So this afternoon after my doctor's appointment, I went through my closet and began pulling clothes that I haven't worn in at least six months out to donate to Goodwill (because I am trying to become a better philanthropist). Over the next few days, leading up to Christmas (which definitely throws a monkey wrench into my grand schemes for "simplification"), I'm probably going to go through my entire room making decisions as to what is valuable to me and what is useless (and what is eye candy). Be rest assured that only my unicorn figurines are guaranteed to be celebrating Passover after this cleaning-fest is complete. I go through these cleaning spurts around the summer and winter solstices every year (I have no idea why), and when the last one hit me this summer I ended up donating/getting rid of a third of everything I owned. I guess I'm making an effort to try and be less materialistic. So that's what I'm up to. Tomorrow is going to be rather busy. My adventures in cleaning are bound to continue, but also my dad is planning to take my brother and me out to see Bad Santa. Nothing like some father-daughter bonding over Billy Bob Thorton, eh? I really don't want to go see that movie, not after the incredible experience of seeing The Return of the King yesterday. Saturday Dad called my cell while Jessica and I were en route to Indiana, and he asked, "So what do you want to do for Christmas?" "What do you mean?" I asked. "Well, your mother wants to go to Christmas Eve mass. I was thinking we should open up presents after the mass, even though it'll be almost midnight. So what do you want to do?" "Christmas morning," I uttered. "Are you sure?" "Yes. Christmas morning," I answered insistently. "You don't want your presents a day before? How come?" "Because it's not Christmas," I answered stubbornly but trying to keep my voice pleasant. After a thoughtful pause, he said, "Oh, okay then. Christmas morning." I clicked my phone off and smiled sourly. I wasn't about to give my dad the satisfaction of being able to sleep in late Christmas morning at his bachelor pad instead of spending the day at the house with his wife, albeit separated, and two kids-- the only family he has left who would welcome him, I might add. I may be old-fashioned and the hopeful fool at age nineteen, yet he ruffled my feathers if he thought for one moment that the presents would matter more to me than his presence on Christmas day. Even if he's only there for half the day. So, I suppose you can say that's another reason why I don't want to go see the movie with him tomorrow; I tend to generate bad karma when I'm in his presence nowadays. But I can't help it: instead of being depressed and distraught about his leaving, I find I'm pretty damned pissed off. "Well, I guess that means I'm not invited to the movie," my Mom sighed in mock melodrama over dinner. I shrugged because I didn't know what to say; I never know what to say. I just wish that if Dad was so interested in repairing relations with my mother, he would stop rehearsing the act of the divorced father. Funny how it doesn't feel like Christmas around here, isn't it? I have to admit that another motive for wanting to simplify my life is so I can work through the more complicated problems blocking my path-- such as, how is my family going to survive this black period in our lives? This isn't to say I'm going to waste my time trying to solve my parents' problems; more than anything I wish I could write in this diary about frivolous, useless shit like hair, fashion, and boys, but I always tend to complicate things out of habit rather than accident. And I can't help but recognize the facts that, yes, I do care about what happens after this, and that somehow this is going to make me stronger and turn out to my benefit somewhere down the road. In the meantime, I lament privately, "Jeez Christ, Sam, you think too goddamned much." And let's face it, Sam: you got screwed. *** In conclusion (because somewhere along the lines my diary became an end-of-term paper for my own psychoanalysis *lol*) my vacation has become its own mini rollercoaster. Yup. That pretty much sums it up. After the movie tomorrow, I'm heading over to Kat's house for her formal Christmas dinner fling. I think I'm helping her to cook, but the word "cook" must always be used loosely when it involves me. *** Thought of the day: If Martha and Jacko are thrown in jail, it would be a very good year for America.
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