Well, its Christmas time again. That means late nights, loneliness, and all the various forms of self loathing that come with it. But despite it all, I still love Christmas. I used to enjoy sharing it. Now, its just me and Mum.

We never get invited to any parties anymore. I don't know why. Why do people avoid us when we are hurting? Its like we've become fucking pariahs. The foreclosed house is quiet, save the occasional cat fight, and the dog rushing in to join the fun. Everything is a mess. We miss our Dad.

In a delightfully fucked up cosmic twist, I got the name of my childhood abuser (is it abuse if it only happens once?) for secret Santa this year. Awesome. Maybe I'll return the diaper- used. I may have even had him before, I don't remember. Our relationship is actually just fine- you'll never see me broach THAT topic with him. He wouldn't remember anyway. Whenever we meet, we talk about his son- the one who liked to put underwear on his head (and pee on you, but thats another story), and fishing. We'll have a beer, and Turkey, and exchange gifts. It will be a "normal" day.

Hooray for Band-Aids.