Fell asleep at my parents house last night. I need to go home, take a shower, and prepare myself for this weekend. I need to peer pressure my sister into agreeing to carpool and spend Christmas eve sleeping in our own beds. My Aunt and her fiance (?) are flying up now that he's not feeling sick anymore, but that means they'll stay in my room. I know my mom is going to ask us to spend the night and share the bed in the basement. Last time we did that I didn't sleep much and our third bunk-mate kept changing from her dog to my cat.

I'm really unsure about this weekend. It's just so clear that my childhood is over, especially around the holidays, and times like these are when you should feel more of that childhood familiarity. I really want everyone to have a good time and enjoy the holiday but I don't want things to feel so forced and strange like Thanksgiving. Family shouldn't be strangers to each other.

Being able to sleep at normal times would be nice too.

Labels: Christmas, family, holidays

I'm slipping again. I know I've learned how to fight it, but it all feels wrong. I'm not supposed to fight it. I'm not strong enough to fight it. And my awful doctor won't refill my birth control prescription for another month and the change in my hormones is just fucking with my body and subsequently my mind. Have I become the definition of passive? I've started reading Steve Martin's Shopgirl and I can't find anything in myself to stop the web of connections between Mirabelle and myself. I'm lost inside myself, unable to create those unending what-if possibilities filled with hopeful dreaming that hold the balance in my happiness. I keep writing this dark poetry, nonfiction, fiction - all lacking any semblance of hopeful dreaming. My room is a nest of scraps of paper. I'm a scavenger.