"But now I think I'm able to carry on"

I have been trying to post this for a few days and am crossing my fingers that I will have internet service long enough for it to load. Technically, it is dated November, 28: 

Have I become the weird cousin from the city? The one with wacky ideas, tattoos and piercings -- the one who has fallen off the deep end? Maybe I always have been, but in denial for years.  I have never really known how to relate to my cousins, but for some reason this year it was exceedingly difficult. Our meetings are always brief games of catch-up and entire years distilled into a matter of two minutes: sloshy memories; occasional utterances I do not really mean; things I did not intend to say; awkward laughter. I find it all odd.

I knew that the holidays were going to be tough, but when I stepped into the Motel 6, I was overwhelmed with gloom. Let me just say that it was clean, thank god, but still I wondered how many dried up liquids filled the fibers of the comforter and how many rendezvous were had in my room. 

It was quiet. I'm used to quiet, but was not sure if quiet on Thanksgiving night in a motel was something I was prepared for. I didn't want to lay in bed and feel sorry for myself and since I was not planning on staying the night I had nothing to read. There was nothing to plug my music into. Trashy television it was. I scooped a sloppy mess of Pedigree from the gas station into a Tupperware dish. Dogs deserve junk food occasionally too. I unscrewed the cap from a bottle of fine wine from previously mentioned gas station. People deserve wine often, especially on nights like these. 

Click, click, click, land on Paris Hilton's best friend show. After twenty minutes (twenty minutes I am ashamed to have spent in such a manner), I rejoined reality. "My god, what am I doing?" I quickly changed the channel as if someone were spying on and judging me and was blessed to find Joel McHale beaming out at me through mega-pixels...or are they just pixels? Anyway, I have missed Joel. He looked like an angel-in-the-box. An angel of wit, intelligence and slight sex-appeal. He sang me to sleep.

Next morning, having bypassed the shower for lack of soap, I returned to my cousin's house. My second cousin tried to get me to play Barbies with her, for the second time. The day before we had begun to play. Animating plastic and playing pretend was one of the last things I wanted to be doing on vacation. It is my job. Please don't make me do this! A few minutes in, I stopped, set naked, heavy on the makeup Barbie down and said, "I can't do this." 

"Yes you can, just, here, use these clothes." 

"No, C-, I really can't do this right now. I don't want to play Barbies."

"Wanna play with Bratz?"

"We just talked about how you and I don't like Bratz, though." 

"I know, but how about Candyland?"

"Alright, let's play Candyland." 

She won.

I missed the people no longer in my life more than anything. I know that Christmas will be the same, even though there are plenty of fun options for me. Losing people is much more difficult than losing a game of Candyland. 

Take a breath, accept where I am and know that the holidays next year will not be like this. Fair doses of "Curb Your Enthusiasm," bubble baths, new mixes, and holiday parties ought to carry me through. God too, right? 

I have been listening to Cold War Kids version of "A Change Is Gonna Come" and belting it out, and oh yes I am hitting those notes. 

Reader: I will shoot for a sun-shiney blog come the new year, but no promises, alright?