less defined as the days go by

oh boy. well here, I'll try again.

stressful holidays indeed.

I've been having so much work, which is a good thing. I'm positive I'll actually even believe that when I actually get paid. see, I don't want to whine, but really... all the money I'm getting any time soon, I already owe. with a vengeance.

and on top of that, all the holiday craze in the city, that just makes everything twice as dreadful, really. headbutting my way into the metrobus every day, dealing with a thousand people at work who'd like their sun-shaped tea infusors wrapped in blue paper, not yellow. my dad never fails to repproach that I never visit enough.
now I haven't seen them since Christmas, but man, really, I've got so much work and eh, I'm stressed.

I get stressed because he really is very sick and could go at any moment, and my 'I have work' excuses sound thin and fake even to my own ears. why yes, I try to drop by once every one or two weeks, but lately it has been mostly a hit-and-run operation. after all, it does take me a couple of hours to get there and back.

bah. you hear me? BAH!

it didn't help either that we had a rather, um, intense time at home too. the so termed house of Dames & Dragons has had a dire time lately, and that includes both the official and the honorary members, and both of the human and animal species. indeed, december saw the decease of an old-time canine friend, and my poor Lily hung suspended from one of her rear paws for a prolonged period of time, getting stuck on the spiral staircase that goes to the roof when trying to get away from the huge bully tomcat from across the street. my god, I used to be polite to that cat but I just flip him off every time I see him now.

I don't even want to get started with the human population pathos. let us just say, it's been intense.
(and on top of it all, of course, work-work-work. and lots of Bright Eyes and new Fiona.)

I don't know about the angelical roommate (that'd be fionn, our resident and ephemeral scotsman), but I think all of us, and marianne (roommie 1), and even I --who had no concrete reason to be freaking out, except maybe for a certain unnamed annoyance related to some other beings of strength-- hit rock-bottom at the christmas night party, taking place on the neighboring house, home of the other two thirds of the Scottish population around here. that is to say, mr. and mr. black horse, scottish, their english housemate, Elliot, and their spanish roommate paco.

all in all, I was in a pretty broody mood all the evening, because almost everything about the visit earlier to my parents irked me; it bothered me that my parents thought that Tim was my boyfriend again, my dad falling asleep on his coffee as usual; and then the whole gift exchange, and toast, and stuff, I say, I love my grandma and I will always love to see her, but I always feel like such a phony with my parents at these occassions. it never feels true. I love them, and I'd like to connect with them, but it just never feels so.
and then my father put us on the street to get a cab from the suburbs on Christmas Eve, because seemingly he'd rather put us on the street than letting us use the car for one night. The End.
at the end my mamma saved the ball by almost secretly picking us up and giving us a ride, so I didn't have to spend my grandma's christmas money on the 90 minute cabride.

we all verily agreed there was way too much alcohol involved at this social event, and there was a fair share of tickling and misdemenaurs, where are yous and even one potentially fatal case of bronchitis; I sat and watched on the big sofa-bed with Paco and my brother, we drank and drank, we smoked and smoked, we hijacked the music, until the Luxury Accesory (i.e., mr blackhorse #3 and another attaché) came, stood there looking gorgeous, and cried, "look, it's not like I don't love Joy Division, but you're making everyone want to kill themselves!"

then we surrendered to Beck, which was of course still very pleasant. I suppose by then we were too decadently intoxicated to care. at least I was. paco will testify that I was like the naughty sister in the story, tossing snakes and toads out of my mouth about a series of things in life that ultimately suck, but god knows I was a funny mofo all the same.

I came home early, only to freak out silently and by myself almost until sunrise. I hear that was a night for the sleepless, and there were many late nighters like myself. and even more later. some of them wearing skirts.

new year's was considerably better, except that I realize this is the first new year's I spend without my brother in our entire lives. I missed him. marianne, displaying a domesticity unheard of in her before, cooked a very large turkey, cortesy of her cellphone company, and we had it in company of good friends and with a lot of good wine. excellent company, yes. almost everyone went off partying afterwards, but I decided to skip it and I just stayed up talking with our last guest, our english neighbor, who got there pretty late from visiting his family and we actually stayed up until dawn.

all in all, I felt better. in between christmas and new year's everything seemed to fit together better and everything felt more at ease.

oh sheesh, I really didn't want to rant.

to summarize. lots of work. injured cats (both now, sandokan tried to cut his veins yesterday night). one friend who must become a friend. freaked out housepeople, who say they're feeling all kinds of better. which is good because even if they weren't strictly *my* problems, they affect me all the same.

lots of irkiness, I'm really not well in my head and in my heart. most of the times I'm okay, but only yesterday someone at the teahouse spoke roughly to me and I burst into tears. bel called the house on the 31st, actually looking for miranda, but 'it's so good to say HI to you.' we managed a record breaking time of 65 seconds of conversation before we started fighting, after which I collapsed on my couch like a cinderella and cried my little heart away, once again. I heard m talking to him and making him apologize, and I just said yeah, yeah, and we got off the phone. he didn't really want to apologize. and maybe he didn't need to; I was probably being a hysterical thing again.

and here's the risible thing: he said he meant to come for new year's, and I believed him. I even afforded to feel disappointed that he didn't show up.

oh man, I suck just as much as ever. send xanax.

I think that on the whole, I'm holding steady, but man, sometimes it's hard.