Wednesday, January 5, 2011

When The Last Whiskey Ball Is Gone

The post-holiday blues really start to set in. Today was my second day back at work, and combined with a late night and a little bit of a hangover, I started to feel like I've been gipped. Even back-to-back Gilmore Girls isn't reconciling me to the fact that my longest period off work in a year, a sad little week and a half, is over; it's worse than the feeling you get when Christmas or your birthday draws to a close (although I've discovered the way to avoid that feeling is to be very drunk when the end approaches; even better if you're so drunk you spend the next day weakly cursing all days celebrated in Bacchic fashion, and resolving not to get worked up about birthdays, even made-up-people's ones).

I just ate the last whiskey ball, and now I truly feel as if Christmas is over. It's a new year, but right now there doesn't seem anything particularly new about it; and anyway, I liked the old one. I've never been particularly good with change or endings; it could be because I have a fixed zodiac sign (I also use that excuse for my stubbornness). As I get older I think I'm learning to accept - occasionally even embrace - change, but then once in a while, possibly from laziness, I just can't make myself do it. It's not that I don't like doing new things (I do), and it's not that I'm a chicken (I'm not)... I just don't like being made to do things. I once had to do (ha) a leadership camp at school [insert shudder here] and one of the little mantras they tried to drum into us was "How do we grow? By doing things we don't want to do." I grimly repeated the line and tried to understand how it made me like Dorothy (the camp had a Wizard of Oz theme) but what I should have done was ask "Grow into what?!" Isn't the whole point of growing up being able to do as few things you don't want to do as possible?! Obviously not for the other kids in the course, who have no doubt grown up to be exactly what their parents wanted them to be (not that there's anything wrong with that, except that there's everything wrong with that). I maintain that a crucial part of becoming an adult is rebelling against your parents; I think even the most liberal of parents should have just one stupid rule that their children can break - otherwise children just can't become their own people. The adults I know who are the least adult were children who didn't ever, either by choice or necessity, go against their parents, and it truly stunted them.

Now I'm way off what I started talking about, but you know what, between the rant and the Bowie (Ziggy Stardust) and the wine I'm drinking, things don't seem so bleak after all. Yes, I have to go to work in the morning. But at least I won't be chained to an iron-ball, or attempting to service fat, bald, businessmen who won't accept impotence. And at the end of the day, I get to come home to Vincent, read my book (Wuthering Heights; I'll tell you what I think about it another time), and know that as often as I can, I do exactly as I please.

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