More Christmas Bile

I don't hate Christmas. I really don't. I like seeing my family. I like watching people open gifts. I like the food, even if the turkey gives me a headache and the mashed potatoes are from a box. On Christmas day, I have a good time.

Leading up to Christmas, though, I'm sort of a Grinch or a Scrooge or some other grouchy character associated with Christmas.

When I was little, decorating the house was a family affair, sort of. It was my mom, my brothers, and me, my dad was usually off doing his own thing, on an afternoon, after school, after Thanksgiving. We'd bring the boxes of stuff up and staple or tape pictures of Santa and Frosty and snowflakes up on walls. (We had this great one of Santa's sleigh that had the reindeer connected to the sleigh and each other by yarn so you could decide how they were flying.) We'd clear a spot on a shelf to put up a great carved, but small, nativity scene. (I had no idea what the nativity scene was until I was in junior high. I only knew it was in the Christmas stuff.) We'd hang up an advent calendar that was made out of felt and had a tree on it and then twenty-five different things with a bit of velcro on them that could be removed from the day and then placed on the tree. The actual tree usually didn't come for another week or so and then all of us would decorate it together. I can only remember one year when we had lights on the outside. My mom put the up. I remember helping to take them down, though.

Sixth grade, I think, I started bringing the boxes of decorations up and harassing my brothers and mother into helping decorate the house. At this time, I also took some lights to string up around my window so something could be seen outside to show we were celebrating Christmas.

In high school, I stopped harassing people and started just hanging the stuff up myself, when other saw me doing it they'd pitch in. By then it was a week or two after Thanksgiving had passed. Some of the decorations that had once decorated the walls for everyone had found their way onto the walls in my room. One year, when no one else was home, I tried to hang lights and fell off the ladder. I decided, after that, not to bother.

My first year of college when I came back, just a few days before Christmas, the walls were bare and the tree was sitting in a bucket on the back deck. The next day I brought the boxes up and started decorating again. The tree was brought in and the whole family decorated it.

The next two years, I was living with my family, again and I fell back into the high school habits, except I didn't bring up the wall decorations and I didn't put lights up in my window. I didn't see any point. And this time I had to harass people to get them to help with the tree.

The next two years I was away at college again, when I got back, nothing was set up and there was no tree. (The first of these two Christmases I used MS Paint to draw a tree, which I printed and taped under the TV and then placed my gifts to the family under it. The next year, I didn't.) When the tree was finally bought, it sat for a few days. Eventually, I dragged up the tree decorations. Everything sat for a day. I put lights on the tree and asked people to help me. They said they'd help that night. I waited. No one wanted to help that night. The next afternoon, I just started decorating. I got most of the way done when one of my brothers noticed what I was doing and asked why I didn't ask him to help and then he grabbed everyone else and we all finished the tree.

Things went on like that and then I was living with my parents, again, I said fuck it. I didn't do anything and I wasn't going to do anything. I thought about it, a lot. I felt bad that nothing was happening, but I just let nothing happen. Three days before Christmas, the tree was finally brought in off the deck and set up by someone. Two days before Christmas, my mom brought up ornaments and lights. The night before Christmas, I was getting yams ready for us to take to Christmas at my aunt and uncle's, when finally a brother asked me about decorating the tree. I said go for it. He sort of stared at me and wandered away. A little while later the other brother asked me about decorating the tree and I told him to go for it. He gave me an odd look and then wandered away. After a while, my mom got my brothers and dad together and they started decorating and then came to ask me to join in. I told her no and explained why. She said she understood, but I've never been sure if she really did. When I was finished with the yams, I went to my bed and read until the others were done decorating the tree, which was like 10PM or something. It seemed awful late when it was done.

That's pretty much when I gave up on the idea decorating for Christmas. When I lived in Cowcity, I decided not to do anything to liven the place up. (My roommate probably saw plenty of Christmassy colors, though; he was so high that Christmas.) Last year I lived here and thought about getting something to decorate but decided that there was no point, I wasn't going to enjoy it, why bother? Same this year. Why bother?

Giving up on the decorating thing made it so it didn't affect me like it used to, the thing that really gets me is one of my brothers, and it's a constant thing, not just a Christmas thing. It's just that it has been going on for so long and this fucking Christmas time and my other brother is flying in from Maryland for Christmas that I'm just really being bothered. Anyway...

A few years ago, my brother and his girlfriend moved to SF. At Christmastime he's asked if the two of them will be coming to Cowtown to be with family. The answer was "I don't know" or "maybe" or "probably" or "We're going to try" or something like that. I can't remember if either one of them were up three years ago. I don't think they were. I know they weren't in Cowtown last year. They had to watch a bird or something that can't be left alone for one day, and their car didn't have a window, or it did and it just wouldn't start and they didn't do anything to fix it, I can't remember. They didn't get their Christmas gifts from us until Easter.

This year, there was a moment when my brother said he was going to be there because an uncle was laying on the guilt. Around the first of this month his story changed to they may be there. A week or so ago I e-mailed to find out if they were going to be there or if I should mail their gifts so they'll get them before April. He wrote back and wrote back, "I'm looking for 'Boxing Day' with the fam if I can rent a car..." I don't live in England or any other of the commonwealth nations. I don't get Boxing Day off. I'm supposed to be at work that day.

Monday, I e-mail my mom, my brother, and his girlfriend and asked them all if they knew, with 100% certainty if people were going to be up the day after Christmas.

That evening, my mom wrote back to say she had no idea, but that she'd call my brother and ask him on Tuesday.

According to a message left by my mother on my machine while I was in the shower this morning, she spoke with my brother and they'll probably be up the day after Christmas.

According to the girlfriend in an e-mail I got today, there's 87% certainty that they'll be up.

I have asked for the day off. I have received the day off.

If they don't show up for Christmas Day or Boxing Day, I'm through with them. I've rearranged my schedule and taken days off to spend time with them. I even fucked up my Easter weekend in April to get them to come to the Bash. I like them. They're fun and smart. But if, after using a vacation day, they don't show up this year, I'm never going to do it again. They can rearrange their schedule if they want to see me. They can take time off work.

If they don't show up this year, the only way I'll ever rearrange my life or use a day off to see them is if they get married and I'm invited to the ceremony. Other than that, there's no fucking way. I'm tired of being the one who's always accommodating. I'm not going to be anymore.

And now that that bit of bile is out there, I feel angrier than I did at the beginning of this post. Right now, I wish that I wasn't going to Cowtown because even though I know I'll enjoy myself this weekend, right now I feel like dog shit that was eaten by a different dog and then vomited up on the sidewalk and then stepped in by some pedestrian.

So, like I said in the last sentence of yesterday's post, "Merry Fucking Christmas."