Bah humbug

Holidays have never been very important in my family. Most of my birthdays after about 5 or 6 consisted of my mom and I going to Red Lobster. Sure, Christmas was usually spent with family around a fully-adorned dinner table, but I have to say that there was never really a magical feeling associated with the fall and winter season. Maybe if I had a younger brother or sister and was given the command to keep the secrets of Santa from them, I would be someone more enthusiastic about the approaching Yuletide season, but alas, to me it's just another time on the calendar.

My mom and I have not talked since about a month before I left for France. No letter. No phone. No email. Nothing. My dad, I think, died recently from cancer... but he was an absentee parent, so whatever. All of my grandparents and great aunts/uncles are long dead. My friends in Atlanta are all consumed in their PhD programs or holiday party hoping with their partners. "But you're in France! Cheer up!" Nathan screams at me on Facebook. It's easy for him to say that when his two beagles are curled up at his side. I don't know where I'm going to live in a month when I get home, Christmas will probably be spent alone and let's not even talk about NYE.

I mean, I know it sounds like I'm sad, but I'm not. Or at least not desperately sad. Yeah, it's kind of depressing to see all these people running around with smiles on their faces, getting letters from loved ones on a daily basis... but alas, my mom was convinced that I was never going to find love growing up (thanks for the encouragement, mom!), so she taught me to be pretty self-reliant. I can cook (kinda), do laundry, sew on a popped button, pay my bills and fix things around the house. I don't really need someone, but damn, it would be nice to feel like people cared about me. That's probably the worst thing about the holidays... all these Hallmark, Walmart, BestBuy symbols of holiday affection flying around... demonstrating, in quite a quantitative fashion, just how much other people are loved. I know I'm an asshole, but even trolls under the bridge need a little lovin' once in a while.

Oh well. At least I've got my music. And in a month, I'll have my dog back from the evil clutches of my ex (if she's not been eaten yet). I guess that's all I really need. Home isn't Atlanta. Home isn't Strasbourg. Home is wherever you are.