Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

Archived, November 2005

So here’s (one of) the (many) charming thing(s) about me: I can go from overtly maudlin and melodramatic to obnoxiously chipper overnight.

Apparently writing about your disdain for the holidays in a public space can alarm people (it’s also a bit self-indulgent, but there again is another of my charms). Who knew? No, I am still not quite ready to join the throngs at the mall, nor have I listened to any holiday music, but the aforementioned chipper part of me (the part I like to believe still exists and can sometimes best the melancholy part) has started to fight again. It’s nice.

The first in a series of Fauxgivings is tonight in York, and it’s got me thinking. I can’t imagine that anyone who knows me would dare say this was a good year – a year worth celebrating – but the irony is that those who know me well are exactly the reason there is anything left to celebrate at all.

It is a rather perverse truth that the worst imaginable situations often bring out people’s purest and best intentions. Doesn’t quite make the situations worth it, but it’s not a bad consolation. To that end, I must concede that while this year can suck a big bag of cocks, it has also taught me some very important reasons to be grateful.

It used to be that I really never liked asking for or accepting any kind of help at all. So without swerving in too bipolar a way from despondency to euphoria, I’ll just say that some of the things for which I am thankful are all the more precious to me now.

Happy hours that last til last call; Other people’s puppies; the sweet, warm embrace of Xanax; Lost, DVDs of Lost and mostly Sawyer of Lost (seriously? Seriously.); Galway, and the promise of going there again soon; and the similarly bright hope about Pitt basketball are just the handful that jump instantly to mind.

But most of all, my family, and my friends who are really just my extended family. My old friends, my really way-old friends, and the new friends who are practically the only positive consequence of this year. The friends who pour vodka down my throat when I need to stop thinking, who pick up the phone at all hours of the night even if I have nothing coherent to say, who are kind enough to allow me to repeat my favorite stories without pointing out my repetition, who remind me of the good things I’ve forgotten, who make me laugh at the most inappropriate times, who drive me absofuckinglutely everywhere, who cook me fantastic meals and who indulge my predeliction for bad bars as well as my inability to stop bitching about lawyers and office politics. They are the proof that there are still good things in my world. Things to be proud of and thankful for even in spite of myself.

So it may not exactly be a wonderful life this year, but it will get better, for all the reasons I just listed and a million more I don’t know yet.And now I’m off to the KKK-capital of the world, York Pennsylvania.

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