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Immediately following Christmas I feel like drinking lethal amounts of Vodka, passing out and not waking again until the beginning of the next year. Last night I took two sleeping pills because I had experienced pure agony yesterday, visiting with relatives and SML’s family, a day very different from my regular routine of working, pooping, and sleeping. The gift exchange part of Christmas is particularly awful for me, deciding what kinds of things to buy, who to buy for, what item will be the most offensive. SML and I tried to agree on what to get each other, agreeing several times this year that we’d finally decide on a piece of art to hang over our couch instead of individual presents. When Christmas Eve did finally roll around I received a new coffee machine slash grinder, effectively feeding my caffeine habit. I gave SML new shoes, feeding his habit of collecting shoes in a basket. We practically lived at SML’s parents’ home this holiday, eating nearly all of our meals with SML’s siblings. I pretend to be a light eater at these events, taking small portions, eating as slowly as possible, and then taking more when I think no one is looking. For one of these meals SML’s dad cooked incredibly delicious, large tennis ball sized meatballs. SML retreated to the kitchen when his sister asked him to fetch a plastic spoon to serve the meatballs, and then promptly returned to the table and began balancing the meatballs on an actual plastic spoon, the kind of plastic spoon you’d receive for take-out, and then wobbled it over to his plate. It reminded me of a circus balancing act, watching him move a meatball across the table with such an undersized medium, feeling nervous that the meatball might fall without a net to catch it. I was going to tell SML he had some serious balancing skill but instead said, “ I think she meant for you to grab a serving spoon.”
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Bah-Humbug 
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