Unmerry Fucksmas

Eleven days have passed since THOSE PEOPLE had their Holiday Fuckfest. No call from Audrey, either. I did manage to zap my brother a text and asked merely, "Did you go to the party?" That text went unanswered. No text from my aunt. Total silence from all the players. I'd bask in this if I knew what's going on. I can play any game, provided I know what the terms of engagement are.

Each day that ticked by, I thought perhaps Audrey would break down and call, and give me the low down on how the party went. Each day went without a call. Perhaps it's nothing. Perhaps my sister said something horrible--and somehow (because I am no longer willing to participate in this abuse which passes for communication in their world) I am to blame for it. 

No. I'm not going to be "the bigger person." I've spent years biting my tongue in all manners for many people, and really I'm burnt out on worrying about the needs and feelings of other people. The only person whose feelings matter to me IS ME at this point. No one else gives a shit about me, so why should I give a shit about anyone else?

So I'm holding out until tomorrow to dispense the holiday call, before we drive to our friends' home to celebrate and feel a part of their family. Hopefully the call won't depress me further.

Eleven days since visiting my mother, and it has left me so emotionally fried and empty, and physically drained, that I have no FESTIVITY in me. The entire experience has drained me and I fear I have nothing to give anyone else. I am trying to power through until our next vacation, and I hope the vacation recharges my emotional battery. HOPE.

This past weekend, while grocery shopping, I picked up a few items to make the stuffed squid recipe (and some octopus and mussels to round out the sauce). I came home from physical therapy on Tuesday night and said, "it's now or never... okay never it is!" and with that, I pitched all of the seafood into the trash heap. 

It was nearing day three, and I was starting to get sick at the idea of even smelling the fish or trying to cook it up and lose interest in it, especially the volume of sauce and stuffed squid I was going to make. I am in full on conservation mode, energy wise, and could not find it in me to power through and make it.   

Plus there's the olfactory memory connection thing with taste and smell bringing me back to Christmases 25+ years ago when my grandmother would make this dish, and everyone would clamor for one tiny stuffed squid, and dunk hunks of bread into the sauce, all of us hovering over a crock pot keeping the contents warm. The smell. The taste. Bringing me back to a better time, however, those times were rife with its own bullshit, but given how life and our family has pretty much been decimated since then, I cannot even conjure up bittersweet attachments to the sauce and memories. All that remains is the bitter. All that remains is the reminder that if I make up this cauldron of sauce and stuffed squid, there is no one in my family clammoring to enjoy it. All that remains is bitterness and silence. 

Eleven days and no call, clearly is a bad omen.  Woe to me tomorrow when I make my holiday call--I just hope it doesn't fuck me up further, as I would like to have a nice Christmas day.