So, some bumming news. I'm not going away for the holidays this year--none of them, not Thanksgiving or Christmas or New Year's. Turns out my vacation leave does not kick in until I've been at Sunnydale Library for six months (probation period, you know). And so I am here, in Southern California, while my sisters and mother and grandparents and god only knows how many friends are feasting on turkey and stuffing in Florida.
It's not the worst thing in the world. I've already had an invitation to a colleague's home for Thanksgiving dinner. I am debating cooking dinner here at Chez Ghetto and having some people over. There are my cousins in San Pedro, who will no doubt throw a shitfit if they find out I am family-less at Thanksgiving. (Hi Lynne!) There's Alexis in Riverside. Lots of options, and I am one lucky bitch.
And then there's Christmas. I've already been invited to spend Christmas with Alexis's family, which is probably what I will end up doing. And anyway, I should probably pass this holiday quietly, contemplating and mourning and yes, giving thanks. Perhaps "austerity" is the word I am looking for. Maybe I am supposed to mark the passing of this year in a quiet, understated manner, in stark contrast to last holiday season. Last holidays, I thought I was surrounded by family. I thought my future was laid out before me, a set and clear path. Lots of celebrating, and all that jazz. This year, it's different. And different is not bad.
But "I'll be home for Christmas" is going to be the song I avoid this year.
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