tavie.com

This is the weirdest Christmas ever.

I don't think we're getting a tree at home. ("Home", but for consistency's sake, I'll call my real home which is actually Gina's house, Mint Manor, and I'll call that Roosevelt Island apartment where my stuff is and where my parents and sister and cats and turtle are that I have to live during the week because it's close to school, home.)

I don't think we're getting a tree. It's mighty late. They keep saying we are, but I don't think we are, especially since I'm always the one that actually has to get out and do it and I don't have any goddamn time this year.

This is much more upsetting than I've let on. No one seems to think it make a difference, because my aunt and uncle have a tree (and we always spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at their house in Westchester), but it makes quite a bit of difference. Those are their ornaments. That tree decorates their house. What about our ornaments? What about our Nutcracker? Does Christmas just not come to our house anymore because it's such an unholy dump? It feels like it's not freaking Christmas at all now. Or it feels like Christmas is over, it happened last weekend when we decorated Jeff (Gina's tree) with Mike and sick bunny.

If we don't get a tree, Christmas didn't freaking come this year. The end. This is fucking bogus. I have a goddamn final tomorrow, I have to write two essays and read a huge load of crap three times, and go see Lord of the Rings, and get my No Credit for math, and go feed Riley over the weekend-- when the hell am I going to have time to go down to the boy scouts, pick out and lug home and set up and decorate a tree all by myself?

We have never not had a tree.

Fucking Christmas.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 10:22 AM | shower me with attention