Too cold, fuck you, don’t wanna.

It occurs to me that, to combat my seasonal bullshit brain, I may have to stop sleeping naked under 400 blankets. I live in a drafty old house and despise getting out of bed even more than usual when it gets cold outside, because I hate feeling cold air on my ass, so I just…don’t get out of bed. Too cold, fuck you, don’t wanna.

Oh, darn. Looks like I’ll have to go buy MORE adorable pajamas. Like…FOR MY HEALTH, really. FOR MORALE.

(Probably also window treatments and a space heater, but it’s more fun to focus on cute pajamas.)

Yep. A WHOLE bag.

OK, listen, I KNOW there are colder places than Philly, but it’s fucking colder than it goddamn should be and we still have to go outside and that is horseshit and I am crabby and winter can eat a bag of dicks.

*deep breath*

Carry on.

“What would we do, baby, without us? Sha la la la…”

I just got called “cold” and had Sad Singleton noises made at me when I mentioned to coworkers that I consider Thanksgiving weekend a short vacation, not family time, and that I hoped my family didn’t host dinner, because I’m looking forward to relaxing alone.

“Jeez, some people LIKE spending time with their families.” Hey, good for them. I am not one of them. Sorry, is my childhood trauma bothersome to you?

For me, Christmas is the family holiday. I will happily (well…) attend. But a pregame four short weeks BEFORE Christmas? Having my parents insist on family “closeness” now that they’re older, not realizing they were my age 25 years ago while they were inadvertently teaching me NOT to value family? Sorry it’s not my top priority as an adult.

(I know I don’t have to attend either holiday, but skipping both is more of an emotional hassle than it’s worth. Plus, ham.)

Thanksgiving weekend is for me to sleep, watch movies, and cook something delicious, not to drive 2 hours to make shitty small talk or silently ponder which mood medications my father should be on.

I can be thankful and reflective by myself. It’s better than being asked if my ex is seeing anyone, hearing how much my family misses him, and explaining to obscure relatives looking at me quizzically that I “recently” ended a long relationship. Oh, and don’t forget what a good mother I would’ve been, and how maybe I’ll change my mind — that is not at all like being punched in the uterus. (Also, c’mon, my eggs aren’t exactly fresh from the farm. They’re, like, Walmart eggs at this point.)

Besides, I promised a friend who’ll be spending Thanksgiving with HER family that I’d be her on-call getaway car if she needs an extraction (SEAL Team Smug!). So I’m not the only one not singing “Kumbaya” for family time.

BTW, yes, if you know me, “cold” is exactly the right word. I am a complete, dead-inside asshole, and people I love mean nothing to me. You nailed it.

 

The winter of my discontent

On my way to work, I saw a bunch of little kids, like 6 or 7 years okd, waiting at the school bus stop. It was 8 degrees outside, with a wind chill of “fuck fuck, mother-ever-loving FUCK!”

See, this is why I can’t have kids. I barely got MYSELF out of bed this morning. If I’d had tiny people in my house whose main goal in life is to hang out, eat cereal, and watch cartoons? “OK, screw it. We’re taking a ‘snow’ day. You there, start the blanket fort. You, you’re on storytime, go pick out some books. What’s 2 + 2? Right, FOUR! Excellent, A+. Y’all are gonna be fine. I’m on breakfast — Pop Tarts sound good? Mommy’s going to have her special Irish coffee, and then I’ll be right with you.”

My kids would be the weird home-school kids at the beginning of “Mean Girls.” Hopefully minus the guns and homophobia.