Oh, tis the season. Isn’t it? It’s freezing here, but as Christmas draws near we’re all keeping warm by crawling nearer and nearer to the hearth...careful of course not to burn a hole in our Christmas jumpers like I did last night. Off to a good start, as you can tell. I flew for the holiday, and by flew I do mean bussed, back to my roots to our little cottage by the sea in Rossglass. It is beautiful here; the house used to belong to my granny and when she passed on we couldn’t bear to see it sold so we kept it in the family and I’m so glad we did. I have so many memories of this place and very little has changed. The garden, smaller than the jungle I remember it to be, is just as wild and blooming. We’re still surrounded by countryside and have the most spectacular view of the mourns—the landscape C.S. Lewis based Narnia on, and where we’re going to spend Christmas day with some of our relatives. It’s so very quiet here, we’re miles away from anything, and as nice as that is it’s also a little creepy at night. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put The Shining on was a moron. I don’t think I could ever live in the countryside full time. It’s nice for a break, but I’m just so used to the city that it almost feels wrong not to hear the incessant streams of traffic and of sighs that accompany it. Being here also means that there’s little to no wifi and as good as that probably is for my health, it doesn’t feel that great for my sanity, cf. MY FAMILY.
My family, as much as I love them, are somewhat formidable. My older sister is practically bipolar with her mood swings, one minute smiles and jokes and the next a poison spitting fire of rage…she’s also really fussy. My younger sister is self-obsessed, lazy and rude. My father is a time bomb, and my mother is stressed out about the holiday. Side by side we’re loud, to say the least. It’s all okay though because we all come together under the yoke of self-indulgence, which I guess is what Christmas is really about (ain’t that right, Jesus?). Since I’ve been home I’ve entered into many a food-coma as my family are nowhere near as good an influence as my skeletal flatmate in Dublin is. Oh well, the diet starts January first I guess, and as we know well by now ends with the hangover on January second. This is my life so I may as well accept it now and drown my sorrows in a bottle of Moet. Speaking of Moet, we also have quite the penchant for the drrrinnkk (I shan’t comment on the ‘feck’, nor the ‘girls’) to the extent that it required two separate trips to satiate our palates for Christmassy indulgence. One excursion, led by mother, was aimed mainly at satisfying the food quotient, which believe me is no joke when it comes to our family, especially in conjunction with competing forces of every soul for lightyears trying to get their Christmas food-shop in before the shops arbitrarily decide to close/get snowed in/ run out of food. Father flying solo for, I can only assume, he needed the extra space in the made a second foray for the booze. I admit, they’re good enough parents to warn me to be vigilant before handing me the corkscrew (emphasising last year’s unfortunate projectile vomiting incident) but to be honest I’ve led such a comparatively abstemious life since then that I didn’t really bother taking much heed to their injunction. I’ve been getting through the Crabbie’s Ginger Beer almost as fast as the cheese&wine, Tarquin.
But, alas, things couldn’t stay well forever and the first Christmas Disaster has struck. We were out today doing Santa’s shopping for him and my older sister’s just after realizing that she lost one of the House of Fraser bags we were hauling around all day. It just so happened to be the one with my presents in it, as well. At least it hasn’t cancelled Christmas…for anyone but me, that is. Secondly, and probably more importantly, as in it ranks higher in the Christmas Disaster list than my presents, we tried to visit my granddad yesterday but he wasn’t in, which we thought was strange, because he’s never out. Turns out our misgivings were correct as he was actually in hospital getting a potentially cancerous growth excised. He had a stroke last year and hasn’t been fully lucid since and every visit we pay him is more and more painful. In some ways I hope we’re all put out of our misery soon and I don’t know if that’s a selfish wish or not because as bad as he looks, I’m not sure if he’s actually in pain. I feel kind of like crap when I think about it, so I just want to put it out of my mind and think about Christmas stuff. I’m going to see him tomorrow and I guess we’ll find out what the biopsy said. Till then, I guess.
Love,
Day.
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