What is it about the holidays, Christmas especially, where being alone seems so much more obvious. I'm not rushing home with packages for loved ones. Or special baskets of baked goodies for all my holiday guests. I'm not bustling about trying to make everything perfect for my family or kids because this year I'll be alone for Christmas. I'm not complaining or trying to feel sorry for myself it just is what it is. With only the weekend off its not enough time to travel home to them and we got to see each other for Thanksgiving. But I miss the magic of a Christmas morning that you've planned for weeks. The anticipation of the kids faces as they open up the presents from everyone, including Santa. My kids let me carry on giving them a present from Santa way into their teenage years. Knowing full well it was always me. I miss decorating the tree with my kids, but still not enough to put one up by myself. I think it would make me more depressed than happy. This will be my second Christmas alone, the first one was in my new studio and a tree was fun that year. Almost a christening of sorts.
I think about all my friends and family who are far away for the holidays and I hope they are all happy and having the celebrations they most want to have. I know my daughter and I will spend a lot of time on line together over Christmas and that is a very good second to seeing her. We share so much together. It's an odd feeling knowing you gave birth to one of your best friends. She reminds me of myself at her age. Full of ideas and convictions that she'd defend to the death. Her world is much more black and white than mine has become, but I'm slowly getting back to thinking she and my younger self was right. If I'd never crossed some lines I'd be a happier person today. It's funny how the argument of 'Why do you always have to label everything?' or 'Why is everything so black and white to you?' can seem to tear down your defenses. I think I've had gas-lighting done to me by some of the best manipulators in life. And you know how hard it is to see that in an individual when you think you are in love? It's almost impossible.
I think a lot of my depression now revolves around the decisions I've made in the last six years. Of course it's related to decisions I made thirty years ago too, but they are only an echo of me not learning from my mistakes rather than any fresh wounds. No my main wound is one that is twenty years old and I can't seem to stop picking at it. It will never heal if I don't leave it alone, I know this, but somehow that's not enough to keep me from poking the sleeping bear out of curiosity or boredom or ego. It's always one of the three. I think sometimes I've forgotten how to care. And I'm almost certain I've completely forgotten how to be in love.
I met a nice man again on the train. Odd place to strike up an intelligent conversation about AI and conscientiousness. About simulations and matrix like universes. For both of us. We spend the entire train ride from the loop to my neighborhood talking about science and fantasy books. (I'm reading the last Dark Tower book on the train right now). And even as we got off at the same stop and thanked each other for the intelligent conversation, neither asked for each others name or indicated any interest in further conversation. He mentioned kids. But wore no ring. Which to me means nothing. Every married man that has ever hit on me or caught me wore no ring. And he seemed way too comfortable talking to a strange woman to NOT be married. IF you know what I mean. And I wondered as I walked home with the sky threatening snow and the wind biting my face, if I should have asked for his name. What if he was the one Fate meant for me to meet? And yet, am I ready to meet anyone? I don't think so. But I didn't think so when I met Mr. Practical, or when Mr. Hopeful turned up again, or when Mr. Charisma forced himself into my life. And look how great all that turned out? LOL As That Guy would say, "You're a player and you played them all." He's so wrong about me, but I never correct him anymore than he corrects all his friends that assume we slept together years ago and still are. Which we never have. I find it so odd how sex plays such an important role in male and female dynamics. Even if it's not happening it's assumed it has or will. Like with me and Satan back in the day. We would both roll our eyes at the accusation. But it was still there. People always assume that sex is a part of a male/female friendship. Most of society doesn't believe in the platonic friend dynamic. It's always an unrequited love on one side in books or movies. Which, for me, are social mirrors to my world. I feel done with men. I finally feel as broken as Jack Frost said I was all those years ago when he met me. He had become one of my best friends, best friends. I'm not sure how it happened, I was there, and I watched myself replaced in Satan's eyes by Jack Frost. He had heard a lot of stories about me from Satan. Most of them I'm sure reflected my wild heart. I'll never understand why he was so loved and adored by all of them. He hated me and I hadn't said two words to him. All my friends told me, Satan, his wife Nature, She of Little Combat Boots and her husband, The Doctor. Even Mr. Hopeful would probably admit that I wasn't Jack Frost's favorite person. I still showed up at his funeral. I liked him. Even thought his first words to me after I said hello to him, were, "You're broken." I was stunned. I didn't want to like him, but the more I got to know him the more I could see why Satan loved him so. Mr. Hopeful has a friend like this that also hates me and I had done or said nothing to him. I can only assume these men heard the worst stories about me instead of the best. And I think that says something about Satan and Mr. Hopeful more than it says about me.
I never talked negatively about my ex's even though they all had as many negative qualities as I have. I always had been taught by my mom, "Never speak poorly of your ex husband or boyfriends, because at some point in time you loved them enough to choose them, and it only makes you look like an idiot if all you have to say is how he hurt you or cheated on you or bullied you. If that's all he way, why did you ever choose him?" And that shut me up quickly after my first divorce, in speaking negatively about my failed loves. The best thing about time for me is that is changes your memories to mostly good. I find that the older I get the less I can remember what all the fighting was about anyway. Thirty years ago, or twenty years ago. . .time seems to have washed it all away under a tide of romanticized fondness. Or perhaps this means I'm not as bitter as I think. Jury still out on that since there is still no Christmas tree. I even watched Scrooged last night. You'd think that would wake up my joy. but not so much. Maybe I need eggnog.