December 26th.

Christmas is over and things are open again. The Christians are done pretending they love each other and no one gave me bad socks or wrongly sized underwear. (Yet...:))

I found an Oasis in the Suburbs and it is called Panera Bread. There is wireless here and Vegetarian food (Sort of, they have bread). They have Soy Milk for the coffee and I can send emails without tickling the underside of the dinosaur my family calls a computer.

It's the day after Christmas and I already feel a major burden lifted. We don't do this again now for many many days. 364 of them. Well, I think it's closer to 363 now. Damn it.
This is fine by me considering the fact that the family is not supposed to be around each other for too long. (No. no court order, but I am working on it.)

My grandmother took to picking at her face and putting Nupercainal on it afterward. We sat in her kitchenless studio and watched the Everybody Loves Raymond Christmas episodes. Then Bad Santa, which Nana loved. She says she liked the little fat boy.

My mother appeared on the scene with a failed attempt at cooking a turkey under her belt, and some mashed potatoes and stuffing. We ate them with cranberry sauce and called it a wrap.

For the love of Christ, we called it a wrap.

They liked the hats I got them, danced for a while, and spoke in Russian accents. This is how they say I love you. Later they felt guilty for not having been better at everything. I think they meant from day one.

I told everyone to just take a Vicodin and be done with it.



"So this is the New Year. And I don't feel any different..."