Nathan's asleep and I'm on his computer for probably the next two hours. I've just gotten over a cry because I'm feeling cramped.
I share a room with a girl I cannot bear to be in the same room with. I live the most of the time in Nathan's single room. It's unbearably small and nothing in it is mine. I have some clothes and a blanket and pillow here, that's it. My computer, my printer, my books, my clothes, my everything, remain in the room where I spend maybe two hours a week. This is not good, this is not right. I need someplace of my own for my stuff so I can be by myself with myself. What can I do about it? Nothing.
We can't get a place together until this summer because we can't afford it. Nathan says he's sorry, it sucks, but there's nothing we can do. He's right, and I am full aware of it, but it's extremely difficult for me in the meanwhile.
The Soup Supper for Nathan's side of the family has been cancelled this year. It is very likely there won't ever be another one, or if there is it will be in Texas. It's a disappointment, really, and now Nathan and I are getting Christmas presents for his whole family.
This morning I got an e-mail from my father telling me, essentially, that my mother has been raising hell about Thanksgiving and Christmas and I had better call my uncles and find out their plans. First of all, I'm not going home for Thanksgiving. Second of all, at this point, I don't care if I go home for Christmas because it is not an experience to be enjoyed. I love Christmas, but given my experiences with the holiday there is absolutely no reason that I should.
Christmas always involved the annual holiday tantrum from my father. No one was exactly certain when it might occur or what would trigger it, but it was certain that whenever it did things would cease to go well. There was the year we were not allowed to watch any Christmas specials on television. There was the year that all the Christmas presents went up into the attic later on Christmas Day. There was the year we stopped having a Christmas tree. There was the year we drove to every grocery store in town on Christmas Eve in perfect silence because no one had made potato balogna (we're Swedish origin and Christmas Eve is celebrated semi-Swedish). These are some of the highlights, but every year he manages to come up with some way to make everybody miserable.
Christmas Eve used to be held at my grandparent's house, and honestly it wasn't that bad. My uncles would show up and there would be food and presents and conversation.
Now, it's held at my Uncle Jim's house, the only uncle left to bother showing up. His house is not exactly a friendly place. It's a pre-fab job built in 1995. The entire thing is white and it is my uncle's greatest wish to keep everything as such. Don't touch anything, don't go anyplace, just sit and watch the football game that blares after everyone is done eating. Whoopee.
I don't want to go, and I don't want to make Nathan sit through that. His family does things for Christmas and it actually is fun. But, telling my mother all of this is something else entirely because she gets jealous and upset. I had hinted before that I would go wherever plans had been made, and I think she's been making things difficult at home ever since.