Wanna know a tidbit…formerly a secret? Christmas really gives me the creeps. This familiar uneasiness was slightly offset by a few things this year, which I admit, these are things that are fairly pukalicious for me to be blogging about. Yet as I am generally a girl of very little mirthiness, I’m grabbing my bragging rights whilst I can. So yes, a certain four-year old and a particular Lad did decrease my usual holiday bitchiness. Yet the generally depressed blogroll seems to have brought me down again, with the exception of the resounding giggles from a posting that just won’t die, mentioned this weekend over at Geek Empire. It seems that when one is pegged as a “world-class piece of ass,” the sardonic and witty bloggers find it just as amusing as I do.

Now that Christmas is officially over, complaining doesn’t seem so Scroogish. Perhaps I’m wrong…but damn I’m glad it’s over. Obviously as a child, I looked forward to the Santa phenomenon, and even after outgrowing the ruse, it was still fun to fake it for the benefit of my younger siblings. Now that over a decade has passed since I moved out into adulthood, the family atmosphere has completely withered.

In the latter half of this transitional period, the maternal figure has resided in an urn, and my father is a shadow of his youthful, football-player hybrid of Arnold Schwartznegger, Robin Williams, and Barney Miller. It just really sucks to realize that your parents are just as vulnerable to aging, illness, and frailty as the rest of humanity. That damn pedestal syndrome, I do suppose. As a result, even when I’m surrounded by people, I cannot help but feel vulnerable myself, and alone to face the abyss…

More depression abounds among a few of my favorite writers on the roll, and of course, it isn’t my place to single this sort of thing out. Yet those I speak of know that I am concerned and await their return with muses in tow. Like everything else, hopefully this too will pass.