Lonely Holidays

Holidays are so strange. It doesn't get much more lonely than the two or three days a year when 99% of the people around us are with friends and family. Fighting or laughing, they're together, in the warm embrace of a fantasy, anyway. It's weird not to have that in any fashion. It's weird to be alone on those days that are so devoted to the ideal of loving togetherness.

And you know, it's really the ideal that we all long for, not the harsh reality of the Holidays. I've shared plenty of holidays with my family that were less than ideal or loving. We all wanted that, we just couldn't seem to bring it off within the parameters of our sick, sad little group. I've been alone on Thanksgiving and Christmas more than once, too. The first time was the hardest, though I only remember the feelings, not much detail.

I'll be alone again this year, and I know I'll be sad and lonely. But honestly? There's not a lot of difference between being completely alone and having Peter in the next room. A little, but not a lot. We're like two objects in separate orbits that occasionally overlap, coming together to create a grocery list, or to put those groceries away. We seldom cook or eat together, or talk about our days. It doesn't get much lonelier than that, not really.

So I take a deep breath, straighten my back, plaster a knowledgeable smile of resignation on my face, and go forward. What choice is there?

Love 'em if ya got 'em, folks.