Somehow This Became a Christmas Post… Fa lalalalala

My tablet is not working. I am lost without it. LOST I tell you. So instead I’m writing. The funny part, (well funny to me because I have a strange sense of humour,) is that I haven’t been drawing anyway lately. Now that I know it’s boned though I want to draw with it right this very second. Before I realized it was deceased, I had pulled it out because I figured I should at least TRY to draw something, maybe get out of this funk. To be fair, it may actually another step on my laptop’s slow hard crawl to an ignominious demise, and not the fault of my Bamboo, I shall verify tomorrow with my desktop system.

So instead let me apologize to myself for not posting anything to my blog in a few days. instead of what I hear you asking yourself, or at least I hear me asking myself as I read this over again to check for errors. Well I forgot what… so there to both of you. I figure if I apologize to myself at least I know the person I’m directing my apology to is listening, even if they still don’t really care.

Alas the loss of my tablet is leading me to probably tell all of you stuff you don’t care about and that I probably don’t really want you to know. But then I’m convinced it’s really only me reading anyway. But maybe I say that as some sort of plea to murphy’s law that people besides me will be reading it, thus negating my own statement? But but but but but. I am the all-encompassing queen of buts. Bow before me!

I warn you know this is pretty much just going to be a stream of consciousness ramble. I like to give my warnings when it’s far too late for them to be of any assistance whatsoever, except to my own amusement.

So, it’s December. December depresses me, I miss my parents immensely at this time of year. For all the reasons that I know everyone already knows, so I never tell them about it. I become more self-involved than usual and then I feel worse because I realize I’m wallowing in self-pity when I really should be reaching out to the people I care about. It’s a vicious cycle. Christmas was always one of my favourite times of year. (Time of years?) I wish I could have that back, but then there are people who never had it in the first place and I feel so selfish for not just being thankful that I had it at all. The thing is, I think I KNOW how to get it back at least in part, I’m just not sure how to get myself to do it or how to explain why I can’t seem to. I guess a part of it is not wanting to drag anyone else down with me.

So, I have an entry I did on that old blog I keep blathering on about, with some of my Christmas memories. Rather than bothering to rewrite them,(as I feel like reminiscing); I will cut and paste as I am wont to do.

First up:

I was an only child, as such I had no siblings to torment, so I annoyed my parents instead. I loved Christmas, LOVED it… and when I was young and still believed in Santa, I would wake up Christmas morning at about 5:00 am; 6:00 if my parents were especially lucky. My mother decided one Christmas; I think I was 5 or 6, that she would give me something to keep me busy in the morning, allowing my parents to sleep a bit longer. So she bought me a gigantic stocking, and stuffed it full of wrapped crap, assuming I would take quite some time unwrapping all this stuff, and playing with it. Yeah… that plan sure did backfire on her.

First I found this giant stocking on my bed! WOW! Mom and Dad HAVE to know!! So I ran into their room giddy as all fuck announcing to them that there was a HUGE foot shaped bag of gifts on my bed!! WOW! My mom tells me the obligatory that’s nice dear and pretends to also be wowed while trying to go back to sleep simultaneously. I run back to my room… I unwrap a gift… it’s a… I don’t remember but I was pretty psyched. It ended up being that about every 2-5 minutes I would repeat the whole “WOW!! Mom and dad HAVE to know about this” until I had unwrapped the last very last thing.

Second, though not entirely a Christmas memory:

I got an Alf doll for Christmas one year, he talked by way of a push button electronic voice box in his tummy. Apparently, these things don’t last forever and so eventually, instead of talking, it groaned like a something from a George A Romero movie.

My mom and dad had twin Lazy Boys, and they ALWAYS sat in the same ones… always! These were rocker-recliners, and so when you sit in them, they rock back.  One day, while my mom was at work, I grew bored. I looked at Alf, and I was struck by a brilliant idea. I yanked the voice box out of him, and just before my mom got home, I placed the voice box behind my mom’s chair so that when she sat down, the chair would rock back and hit the button on the voice box. I tested it to make sure it would work, which it did, perfectly, and you couldn’t feel it hit the voice box. Just before she returned, I hid and I waited.

My mom walks in, sits on her chair. Her chair immediately responds by moaning in a long drawn out groan of torment and despair,

“Graaaaaaaaagggurrrryyyyaaaaaaaaaffffffffftteeerrr raaaaaaaaaaggggggurrrrrrrr.”

I’ve never seen her move so fast in my entire life, before or after. She figured things out rather quickly when she caught me not able to breath for laughing too hard. She wasn’t terribly impressed, I was though!

I think the moral to both of these anecdotes is, “Only children have WAY too much time on their hands, and probably think the world exists expressly for their amusement.”


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