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Confession
thejanechord
Diaryland
notifylist.com
2002-12-06
11:38 a.m.
It’s been snowing for days, and I love it. The snow makes me feel that life is so much more bearable. At least it makes me feel like everyone else has to deal with an inconvenience that is tangible and unfortunate, that causes major accidents and tragedies, and that places an additional burden on the lives of people who are already overburdened.
It levels the playing field.
For once, the holiday season is approaching, and I don’t really feel upset by that. Going home for the holidays may be a nice break from the routine of my everyday life of working and sleeping. It will, however, be the first time in a year and a half that Rob and I will be apart for a whole week. He’ll be in Georgia and I’ll be in Pittsburgh. Knowing that we’re going to be away from each other, I’m inclined to worry. That’s all we appear to be capable of doing when we’re apart, aside from missing each other.
The funny thing about the holiday season for me is that it’s the best part of it that really bothers me. The Christmas songs and the craziness of the malls don’t bother me. I love the eggnog and the hot chocolate and the Christmas lights all over the place, resting like lightning bugs frozen in time on the edges of houses for the betterment of all mankind. I love the bells that the Salvation Army guys ring, and I love the Santa commercials constantly on TV.
But I have a real problem with gift-giving.
Don’t get me wrong: I really like buying things for people. But when I give and get gifts at Christmastime, I find it extraordinarily depressing. I remember, when I was significantly younger, I’d watch my dad open gifts from his brother (my uncle) and every single year, my dad got dress shirts. Every year, it was more shirts, and I started to think how sad it was that his own brother wouldn’t take the time or energy to pick out a more personalized gift than that for this one occasion a year. Then, I found out that my Dad and my uncle had this agreement or understanding of sorts about who would get what gifts for what occasion, and it appeared that my dad was fine with that.
I still thought it was sad.
Now that I’m older, I’m beginning to understand the concept behind making that sort of agreement with a sibling as to what kind of gift should be given or gotten at Christmastime. My three siblings and I are about as different as snowflakes are from ducks and ducks are from lasagna. And I’m the furthest in the group, way the hell out in left field, wondering what the hell the rest of them are thinking and trying to keep them from wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Nevertheless, all of us try to get together at Christmas to give gifts we’ve picked out for one another as being really indicative of that person’s personality.
Whether we succeed happily or fail miserably, I’m still depressed by it.
In the first place, I don’t really feel that I’m deserving of gifts. When Rob gives me a gift, I know it’s because he loves me and wants to make me happy. When anyone else gives me a gift, I end up feeling sad because they think they know me when their gift shows that they obviously don’t. Or, if they give me a gift that really does show they know me, I feel like the worst friend or family member in the world for not being able to be more giving of myself. I wish I could be with everyone all the time, but that’s just not possible. So I feel guilty. But it’s hard enough for me just to get out of bed each day. How can I keep up with everybody?
Isn’t it enough that I’m still alive for them?
