My life as fiction

I've been trying to write for days. I'm back at work after one day off. Yes, one. Yes, I am back at work. Yes, I am the only freakin' person in the office. It's been awesome.

Sigh.

Last semester was tough, really tough. I don't know if it was because I was working full time, taking two really difficult classes, quitting smoking, getting approval for surgery, going through a lot of bullshit emotions, or the fact that I feel like I should spend my days smoking crack and watching TV in PJs all the time. But it was not good.

So school is done, and I still don't even know what to do with all my free time. Last week it was fast and work out. I had a meeting with my surgeon on Friday. It's so bizarre to meet your surgeon for the first time, it's like, "hi, you're going to pierce that knife into my perfectly healthy and normal flesh... would you like a cookie?" That intimacy. That trust. Thinking back on it, makes me want to fucking cry. Does he know that I want him to make small incisions, does he know that I would like a hug before, that I want for him to whisper in my ear and tell me that everything is going to be ok, and I'm not an arrogant fool. I have less than one month to pull everything together. I have no idea how to handle everything I'm going through. I don't know if I should drop out of school, switch degrees, go part time at work, go smoke crack...

But I digress. Christmas. Christmas. Christmas used to mean something to me; I'm sure it did. But I have not participated much in this holiday for about 5 years. My siblings are married with kids, and we decided as a family that Christmas would be a great time to head to the in-laws. I don't have in-laws. I am, of course, always invited to hang out with my mom and dad, but I just think that would reinforce how pathetic I feel. That isn't my real life. The blessing about being a teacher was the fact that I always had several weeks off over Christmas, so I would embark on adventures. I've shared Christmas with my friends in London, Oxford, Mexico, Edinburgh, I even flew back to California last year. But not this year, because this year I had to work the next day. This year, I went shopping on Christmas Eve. Oh, I was done with all of the shopping for my dear friends and family, so on Christmas Eve I bought gifts for myself. I went to Best Buy with the intention of getting my record player fixed. I fought with the Geek Squad guys over the validity of the product replacement plan I purchased, and while I was standing there, I picked up the "one day only sale" newspaper ad on the counter. Not only was my dream digital camera $250 off its normal price (a price that has not fluctuated in 3 years), but all HBO DVDs were 50%. Perfect. I needed a season or two to complete my Sex in the City collection, but when I went over to pick them up, I saw the gravestone--Six Feet Under. I watched an episode or two of this show when it first came out, when I drove to Santa Monica and Ostrom and I were still friends, I loved it, but I never really got into watching TV in general, and there was no way that I was going to invest in cable. But every person I admire loves this show -- smart, witty people. I wanted to be smart and witty tooooooo.

Sweet Jesus I'm addicted.

I'm only one season into the show, but I think it's quite possibly the most entertaining, well written tv program I've ever seen. For those of you who don't know me in real life, this is huge. I don't watch TV. My TV is unplugged most of the time, I don't even have rabbit ears to get clear local channels. But Six Feet Under dragged me back in. And that's how I spent my Christmas. 50 minute segment after 50 minute segment, I dove deeper and deeper into this fictional family's pain, grief, conflicts. It's beautiful. And although I didn't have anyone else to share this holiday with, the Fisher family welcomed me in, and I can't wait to eat up the next 5 seasons.

Ho ho ho, bitches.