so, Thanksgiving. festive. or something...
actually, excepting two minor explosions, (sadly, I use that term metaphorically), it went far better than I bothered to hope. not bad at all, really. my grandma was unprecedentedly copacetic; not only did she skip the "where the hell have you been the past twelve months?" speech (ok, there was a moment of "I don't think I've seen you since my birthday" - which I disputed, and realized when I got back *was actually not the case* - phew - but other than that, nothing; I was impressed) but even when she left, she said something about seeing me Christmas Eve (meaning, she did not say, "you're coming out eight times before that, right?") which left me almost bewildered. hunh. my dad was similarly sane. he talked about missing me, and how it was good to see me, and how I could visit anytime, anytime - but there wasn't the same intense pressure below which I'm usually squashed. and that was nice. also, the food was yummy. and that was pretty much all I noticed about it, about the food. although, when we went to pray (what is this strange concept?) I did feel a wave of my own involuntary-meal-prayer, which goes something like, "Oh, wow, thank you, thank you, thank you, that I can eat this now, and it doesn't hurt, and it isn't hard... please let it be that way for the rest of us; please, oh wow." which sort of covers the "one thing I'm thankful for" question, methinks.
the comedy: the comedy was, unsurprisingly, amusing. I told my brother on our way out there that the drive out was my favorite part of this revised holiday. I ammended it right away, saying something about how the drive back had to be my true favorite part, but I was right initially; it is the drive out. it's the listening to music that's so bizarrely appropriate and hilarious that we end up laughing and singing and... last year it was They Might Be Giants, this year Tom Waits. the piano has been drinking, et cetera. seriously good times.
the drama: my brother - my oldest brother, the one who's nearly thirty - basically threw a temper tantrum. I don't know why, exactly. I mean, obviously, he was pissed off - and, like that time a few months ago when he pinched me in attempt to get his way, temporarily forgot that he's no longer three years old. but it was rather strange. and even though, I think Dale takes the major responsibility for flipping out, I think it might have been avoided if my dad had stayed out of things. my dad trying to parent is a really interesting (by which I mean, mainly, disturbing and unsuccessful) phenomenon. he makes this weird attempt to mediate between siblings, as if... we haven't had twenty+ years experience at working things out. and generally, it means someone gets upset. because... let's say that my brother, John, decides it's time to pick me up, spin me around, and throw me on the bed (Mary-Go-Round, a classic game of torture between siblings). it's my job/ right/ role to scream and flail and beg for mercy. if my dad actually attempts to intervene, "Max, you're gonna hurt her!" (Max being my brother John - don't be too confused by my family's complete inability to refer to each other by our given legal names) - the fun just drains out of things. in more serious circumstanci (it just felt right; go with me), such as the traditional push-pull antagonism between siblings, his interference throws things entirely off balance. anyway, the latter was more the case Thursday, when my brother Dale appeared with a case of DVDs and proceeded to put in - of the million options - an episode of Mystery Science Theater. (Puppets mock really bad movies. Interestingly, this is not as amusing as mocking bad movies oneself.) since he attempts to put in MST at basically every family gathering, Dale knows it's considered a method of brutal torture. he knows. he puts it in anyway. so John and I start in. "no, no, noooo!" etc. me: "Dale, I told you - games! I *want* to play a game! I'm all about a game! Please, Dale, c'mon!" (That would be his other major interest. Videos - which always gets distilled to MST - being the first. Games are his second. He's even been to cons and shit. Why can I not get along with my oh-so-geeky brother? It's not right! It's not logical. It's not appreciated.) however, before the balance of power can be established- hopefully into a compromise- my dad comes up behind Dale and says, (without even a beat between John's and my complaining and his statement), "Dale, I don't think they want to watch that."
Oh, did I mention that my darling dad, when he tries to be helpful, always says the most blatantly *obvious* thing possible? Which usually doubles as a passive-aggressive statement. (Self-analytical-note, care of too much therapy: I think I'm attacking my dad, which is making me feel guilty, as a means of not attacking my brother, which I was worried I'd do in this entry. Grrar. Not a solution I enjoy.) My dad didn't want to watch MST either; hence the passive-aggression does apply. So anyway, as soon as Dad started that statement, Dale yelled, "FINE!" - took his DVD and went home. ok, not so much. it is, after all, a five hour drive. but he did go outside and stay away long enough for everyone to get nervous that he might have taken off entirely. John sang, "Happy Hollllidays", I sighed, and asked how long we'd managed to maintain some semblance of holiday spirit before breaking down completely? Eventually, the Boy returned, though not soon enough to preempt my dad from going out to talk with him, something that seemed to smooth things over perfectly (here, take some sarcasm home with you; really, I've got plenty); he handed the disc case to John and said, "Here, you pick something out, since apparently I'm not allowed to..."
To which I, attempting to regain some merriment and sidestep the complete bullshit that had just come out of the once-only-child's mouth, replied, "You're totally allowed to pick something out. We just have veto power." Obviously, no one wanted to pick at that point, perhaps because no one wanted to watch a movie in the first place... But in the end, we sat down with our grandma and our great-aunt and watched So I Married An Ax-Murderer, like any grateful family. Our traditional viewing of Planes, Trains and Automobiles was postponed, tentatively rescheduled for next Thanksgiving. Because this is an *annual* event. Dear God. Who invented holidays?
Honestly, I was thinking last night that "the holiday season" should only exist in lieu of every other committment, etc, that we work with on a daily basis. I think I could handle my mom's birthday, my brother's birthday, Thanksgiving, my brother's birthday observed, my mom's birthday observed - in New York City with all of my siblings, my sister's birthday, Christmas, and New Year's, if everything else would just pause. I don't have time to think. I don't have time to *want* to spend my time in any other way. Not only do I not have enough time/energy for the holidays and holiday preparations, but I don't have enough time to do anything else, or to even think of doing anything else. I can't even consider what book I might want to read on the off-chance I ever have time for such pursuits again. That particular problem started with nanowrimo, but the ridiculous spread of not-enough-time to every goshdern thing in my entire life can only be attributed to the holiday season. And the stress? The stress I face simply because I can tie one event to the next without so much as a cheat-breath in between until, say, January... which, if I were not currently caught up in the holiday season, would be the time I was hoping to be enrolled in a class by? The stress of that compounded with the stress of multiple family gatherings including that goddamned stepping out process... I mean, fuck. Honestly. Presents almost don't seem worth it. Scary words.
I'm kidding. Because of course presents are worth it. And of course, I love my family, and I really care about being with them during the holidays. Even if it does result in the most interesting displays of what were previously believed to be pre-school dynamics...
Oh, and, speaking of presents? The fact that I know what I want does not make me greedy. The fact that I want does not make me greedy. The fact that What I Want includes material items does not make me materialistic. Honestly. People want a list of things you'd like, you provide said list, with all sorts of options (unlike certain sisters you have, who ask for five items, only two of which can be bought in the world outside New York) to help them along, and people act like you're spucking Veruca Salt. Even though *you wrote* "presents and prizes and sweets and surprises in all shapes and sizes" at the top of the list to pre-empt that very thought. Sheesh.
On the somewhat more important note of family interaction, it really does bother me that I don't have a better relationship with Dale. I cannot figure out how to approach it for the life of me. He left Dad's before John and I did, and so he had some time here with Mom, without anyone else. Mom said he's doing really well, and I said - kind of pissed off - that I was glad to hear it, seeing as one would never have known that, if one had observed him on Thursday alone. John and I honestly thought that he had broken up with his girlfriend (nope, things are going well) because he didn't even want to talk about that. Mom said that when she hugged him he seemed really anxious, that she could feel it. And, you know, if that's how this godddamned anxiety plays out for him - temper tantrums, controlling shit - I understand, but... I just want to have a decent five minutes with him, which doesn't seem possible. It wasn't happening when I visited him over Halloween, and it wasn't happening Thursday. Which upsets me even more because we *were* doing better, I thought. I just don't understand how the fact that we have some common interests refuses to help us - because we have such different temperaments I don't feel we ever successfully (as in comfortably) talk about those interests. And I don't understand how to bridge our temperaments in any way that might actually work. In large part because I am Dale's Little Sister, and I think the idea of commonality makes him freak a little. I can't feel or act or think as he does because there's an 8 year separation. Whatever. I don't know what to do and it pisses me off. Again. The situation compounded by the not knowing what to do. Exponential pissiness.
I listened to what is quite possibly my favorite Dale-song before I went to bed last night. That's a good way to fully experience the suck of not knowing him.
Oh, explosion number two. John spent the entire drive back giving what was (all but) a monologue on why the doctor is an asshole who doesn't understand everything. I refuse to believe they'll do anything other than work it out, but it's still rather annoying. I mean, this is my doctor, too. And I've been in therapy longer, and I tend toward saying, "well, but - you know...[insert therapeutic challenge here]" but thankfully, I now know I'm just supposed to be his sister and nod and sympathize and maybe throw in a "that sucks; I hope he starts to get it soon" when I can. I know how annoying it is when a therapist assumes you're angry because they're right, instead of because they're pissing you off, and at the same time... I didn't realize that was why he was so keen on driving me back even though Dale was going to our apartment anyway and could have saved John the trouble. erp. I'm still glad to spend the time with John, but oy. And what exactly do I say to the doctor, if I decide to mention the second less-than-fun moment of Thanksgiving? I feel like I'll be breaking brother-sister confidentiality or some shit. Bah.
In good news (you know, that other kind) - my (great) aunt Effie seemed a lot better than the last time I saw her. She's still losing her hearing and her sight, but she was a lot sharper this time than last. Much more like herself. And she seemed to hear fine except when two or more people talked at once. (So she was loving MST, too, let me tell you. Oh, and we did end up watching it. After SIMaAM, Dale popped in the disc again. John went to bed, just beating me to that escape. Eventually, I gave up and followed. There's a lot of tryptophen in MST.) I was glad. Glad to see her, and glad to see her doing well. I always feel slightly less like I'm from a different species when she's around. And my grandma seems more comfortable with my being close to Effie now, which is great. Never thought that day would come. And I finally gave her my faux-senior-photo (the one I insisted on getting before I dyed my hair, which stalled the process for months), and she liked it! Yeay. It went over well, which is a big relief. Even if she did say she'd given up - which made me really sad. How long did she wait for John's after he graduated (considering she's still waiting for it)? It's only been... dear Thud, it's only been, like, 1 1/2 years since I supposedly graduated. Have a little faith, Nana. Shucks.
I love finishing an entry and feeling like I've done nothing but put meaningless words together, successfully wasting time I don't have. That feeling like there's nothing of merit in an entry? I really enjoy that feeling.
Spuck.
~me