I think my last post went over the internet’s head, so I’m going to try and be more normal here. (The spam bots just didn’t know what to do. They were like, “click here >> for free Viagra samples, *confused face.*”) Shut up, me. THAT is not being more normal. That is being weirder.
Well… without the weirdness I think my brain wouldn’t know what to do with itself, it would just run around in helpless circles running into walls. Unfortunately I feel like most of the time my obscure things fly over people’s heads, not because they’re particularly smart, but because they’re just too obscure. Even Zoe, who famously laughs at a good 95% of the supposed-to-be-funny things that I say, can’t laugh at everything; there’s that freaky 5% that you just can’t make sense of unless you’re me. And even sometimes to myself it doesn’t make total sense. When I’m feeling overwhelmed I’ll start thinking of unfunny, ridiculously abstract things, and then later on when I’m not in such a weird mood I’ll remember them and be a little freaked out at myself. Right now I’m a bit overwhelmed, after the insanity of today and yesterday. On Christmas Eve I went to my French grandmother’s house for most of the day, and it was pretty nice, but added on to a full day at my English grandparents’ house, it feels like too much. I’m glad that I can sit here in the darkness of my room and write a bit, and get away from the socializing and the people, and all that.
I got an excellent haul this year. A banjo from my grandparents, a couple comic books, a gift card for Chapters and a lot of money from the French side of the family. It occurred to me a while ago that I’m fairly well-off, even though my friends are generally much richer (since they live in the richest part of town); but my family isn’t poor. My mom and dad are kind of poor, but both sets of my grandparents have money, and that’s where I get the banjos and things from. I know that not a lot of people get nice banjos from their grandparents, and it’s too bad. Christmas would be better if everybody got what they wanted, or at the very least had a good family to spend the day with. I’m lucky to have both, and as cheesy as it probably sounds, I’m very thankful for it. We’ve got some issues going, but I’m learning that life’s sort of like that, as awful as it is. My dad isn’t doing well. My evil stepmother has totally lost her shit recently (big surprise!!), and their marriage is falling apart, so he’s anxious and upset constantly and I don’t know what to do for him. The other day we walked around the neighborhood downtown for a few hours, got pizza and cookies at the coffee shop and talked, and I think that helped, but otherwise I’m not sure what I can do. My grandpa bought him a little iPod for Christmas and I filled it up with all the songs I know he likes; and I might call him tomorrow to see if he’s doing all right. It’s really strange, because it feels like our positions are switched – a couple years ago when I was hiding in my room for months and hated going outside he was worrying about me, I guess, but now it’s the other way around; he’s doing badly and I’m worried about him. On top of that my mom is really sick with some digestive issue, and she’s been in pain for months – the other day we were driving home from my grandma’s and she was almost in tears because she was in so much pain. I don’t know how to help her, either, but it’s different because her pain is more physical rather than emotional like my dad’s. I’m trying to be better in general with her, less annoying and teenagery or whatever, but I feel like no matter how angelic I force my sinful soul to become she’s still going to be grumpy because of the pain she’s in. I’m happy that she’s going to go get a thingy done to work it out soon, and hopefully that’ll make her feel okay again. For my sake, a little, but mostly for hers.
She got me the Matt Smith season of Doctor Who, and I was really excited about putting it in tonight, but then I realized it’s on Blu-ray. Blu-ray! Holy fucking hell. Do the DVD companies understand that not everyone is rich enough to buy their fancy machines that (in my opinion) aren’t much better than the regular thing? I don’t want the extra features, I just want to watch the goddamn moving pictures. So we don’t have one – and I’ve got this beautiful box-set season of Doctor Who just sitting below the Christmas tree, unwatchable because goddamn Blu-ray. It’s not my mom’s fault, I guess she didn’t realize that it wasn’t a regular old-fashioned DVD set. I feel even worse about it because it must’ve been expensive and we don’t have any money. Now we’ve got to return it, or I’ve got to go take up residence in my grandparents’ house for a week or so to watch the episodes. They’ve got one of those infernal Blu-ray players, but I’m not at their house all that much anymore and, spoiled though I may be, it’s no fun watching TV when my OCD aunt is sitting across the room talking every three seconds – neither do I like having to do things I like with other people, unless it’s a thing specially done with other people. I never had any intention of watching Doctor Who with anyone else (excluding my mom, but she has a special place in this matter) – I intended to lie on the couch like a vegetable and marathon my way through the season on lonely Christmas holiday afternoons.
So, please forget my whinings. Christmas has been great, mostly because this year is the first in a really long time that I’ve been able to spend time with everyone without feeling like I’m being roasted alive by my anxiety. I’ve had some anxiety over my aunt’s (not the OCD one’s) new boyfriend, a slightly untrustworthy-looking French fellow with a large thick beard. His daughter, who’s ten, is nice, which may give some insight into how he is himself (I’ve noticed the attitude of the kid often reflects their parents), but so far I don’t know how I feel about him. I don’t outright dislike him, which is a good sign, but I’m wary about liking him, anyways. On Christmas Eve I spent time with everybody, played cards with my cousin and his dad, (both of whom I really, really like), and I must’ve done at least an hour and a half of Minecraft on my grandma’s iPad, which was probably necessary for my social anxiety or something, and dug so far underground that I hit the bottom and my eight year old cousin seemed impressed with me. I also built a three-story wood-and-stone tower which I’m proud of. None of that, of course, was worthwhile, but at least it was fun and kept my mind off being stressed out.
Today was busy, too, what with the English family getting together. It’s strange how I haven’t felt excited about Christmas for years – I look forward to it, but I don’t get excited anymore. It’s a little depressing. I woke up around seven this morning, and stayed in bed being sleepy for about an hour, and had time to reflect on how when I was little, if I woke up after five I’d be running down the stairs for the Christmas tree and its presents, regardless if anyone had actually woken up yet. Now I don’t care as much. I like the family part more than I used to, and especially now that I can handle it all again.
After supper (which was delicious, and really British: roasted beef, mashed potatoes, vegetables, Yorkshire pudding, gravy), I went out for a walk with my uncle and my grandpa, and the dog. It was extremely cold. I also went out in the morning, and my grandma wasn’t sure if it was a good idea for me to go out again, in the coldness – but my grandpa said that it had warmed up from earlier, which, if you think about it, is a ridiculous thing, because it was at least -20 this evening. You know it’s bad when you’re at -20 and the temperature has actually gotten warmer.
I need a new winter coat. This is completely uninteresting, I fully expect all the spam bots to skip this paragraph. But the thing is the one I have is not warm enough for the post-apocalyptic cold around here, and also, it just looks kind of silly. I’m sorry. That’s completely vain and stupid, but it’s true – it’s a dress coat, so it’s kind of fancy, and not made for standing outside for hours, or for going to skate on the rink, or anything. It’s a man’s coat, so at least I don’t look girly. I really like it for just walking around or going to school, but I’ve made my plans to monopolize the rink next to the library this year already, and I don’t want to have to do it in a not-warm-enough dress coat. Plus if anyone else is there (and here I’m getting vain again) I’ll feel stupid wearing it, especially since I’m not one of those terrifyingly competent hockey players that often show up on public rinks. I played hockey for about four or five years, so I’ve got reasonable skills, but for one thing, I’m five foot six and about a hundred and thirty five pounds, and for another I just can’t keep up with those guys who have been playing their whole lives competitively, skill-wise. I’ve got the worst wrist-shot in hockey history and I can only do good crossovers from the right side. I can skate backwards pretty well and I’m reasonably fast, at least, but that’s small potatoes next to the people who can do everything: the backwards, the forwards, the perfect crossovers, the incredible wrist and slap shots, the checking, the stick-handling, the everything. Besides I’ve got asthma and after about five minutes of skating I tend to wheeze and feel a little pass-outy. Playing hockey, I did pretty well, due mainly to my insane desire to not suck – by the end of the last season I had to quit from my general anxiety, but I was doing good. I’ve got great spacial sense (oh, thanks, Asperger’s!) and I can pass better than most other players, and not to mention my body checking (although it’s hard to body check teenage boys or men when you’re five foot six and have the bone structure and strength of, oh, wouldn’t you know it, a sixteen year old girl), but still! In the grand scheme of things, I probably suck!
So there! What was the point of that, anyway? I don’t know. I need a new winter coat. That’ll magically turn me into a five foot ten boy with a great wrist shot. (That’s what I would have been, anyways, had the universe not screwed me over at birth. Except minus the great wrist shot. Yes, minus that.)
Is this the part where the inevitable transgender crap finds its way in? God, I hope not. I try to keep away from that part of my existence for as long as possible unless I’m desperate to write about it. I don’t know. Lately, I guess, I’ve been just as desperate about it as ever, but there’s nothing, literally nothing, to do about it until the next time I see my doctor, which is in a few weeks. (Shit, a few weeks. Feels very long right now.) That’ll be after I get back to school, which is maybe a good thing, I don’t know, so I can tell my friends about it. But do I have to? How about I get a magic lamp and a genie comes out and says,
“You have thr-,”
“Yes!” I shout back, grasping the air in excitement. “Here’s number one -,”
“Wait,” he says, holding out a wispy-looking hand and staring at me with sparkling, narrowed eyes. “Think about it first.”
“Fuck you. Boy, boy, boy. All right?”
Now I think I’ll get my banjo, tune it, and go downstairs to play it for my mom. I hope my cat doesn’t run away and leave a dust cloud behind like he does when I take out my guitar. Anyway, merry Christmas, or Hanukkah, or whatever you celebrate (they’re all the same to me), and I hope that you have a good couple of weeks off work or school or whatever, and that the new year is a nice one.