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My Profile
Gift from Hil Part 2 - 2014-12-30
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3:28 p.m. - 2011-12-08
I have a cold. Not a terrible one, but aggravating nonetheless. One of my guys carried home some bug that didn't effect him but passed onto me just fine. Ah, the joys of a two school district household. We box the grid with the opportunities for germ sharing. Mick's campus is way the hell down at the far end of the county- spitting distance from the PA/NJ border. And Wolf goes to school in the county seat. Podunkville isn't large, but the other students' parents are mostly upscale professionals with elected offices and businesses here and into the city and beyond. I'm not a germophobe, but my immune system is shaky at best and with that much outside crud coming in it's inevitable I come down with something. Feh. Rosie brought up a valid point about Mick and his bathrobe woes. I've also asked Mick why he goes on that way. His answer is always that on the weekends he likes slouching around in his robe. On weekdays it's get up, wash, dress and out the door. On the weekend he feels he should be allowed to relax. But honestly? Mick is Irish. And if the Irish don't have a lost cause to butt their heads against they're only half alive. So, Mick will go out to fetch the paper in his robe and will continue to be embarrassed about his dishabille and will bitch about the road traffic until the day he dies. He can't do it any other way. Mick did, however, have a change of heart about Christmas. (*innocently batting my eyes*) All I did was start agreeing with him. I joined his sour crab fests about how dumb/wasteful/phony it all was and made a point of sneering at the holly jolly bullshit as he always has. Hearing his words and grinchy attitude coming from my mouth got his attention. Big time. He hated hearing that sour cynical crap from me. To Mick I am a Lightbringer. One of the rare folk who find the love and the joy in nearly everything they see and do. Mick counts on me to challenge his darkness. My faith and hope stand fast against his bitter cynic's sneer. And that I seemed to have joined him on the Dark Side was a shock. Worse, it was a disappointment. Since our very first date when I sat across the table from him at the diner and challenged his jaundiced view Mick has looked to me to show him the path out of the darkness. I've never promised that things will be perfect. Far from it. But what I have done is show him is that perfection isn't necessary to have joy. As I learned that lesson from my many friends (Mary in particular) so I do for Mick. What I know is that we are all entitled to choose to be happy. We can pick things apart and ferret out all the flaws and give ourselves reason to doubt and be angry, or we can dare to love and dance and be glad despite the wrong bits. To demand perfection is to insist on being unhappy. Mary is a Wise woman in more than name. I am Mick's 'Mary' and to hear me parrot his sad, unhappy way of going on was a bitch slap. So. Your pal the Sage who dares to love Christmas and all its trimmings is free again. Free to light up the house, bake the cookies, write the cards, plan the surprises, decorate the tree, stuff the stockings, and sing THIS until I'm weeping in glorious schmaltzy nostalgia. Good deal. You mustn't misunderstand. I know I speak often (too often) about Mick's harsh way of going on and how I always have to push back against his LOUD and nasty outlook. But truly no one has ever given me so much credit or seen me in such a positive light. I revel in Mick's view of me. What? Huh? Me? A positive thing? A good thing? Surely you have me confused with someone else. Someone worthy of attention and affection. I am that droopy drag, the life ruining pain in the arse, that burden which decent, fine, and better people got saddled with! Not to Mick. And if I am to be candid, not to my real friends. The ones who see through my defenses and the protective walls and know my smushy inner self. I truly am what you see. A big dorky holiday-loving, believer in the white refusenik who is not wholly good or competent or free from selfishness, yet one who dares to be grateful and happy anyhow. Happy despite having to fight my ex for custody and legally sanctioned child support monies and the deed to my house, and despite being laid off from my dream job and rejected by employers near and far, and losing my model looks and a reliable bod, and who keeps trying even though I flub and fail and let people down. In short, I am a fool. But being foolish is all I have.
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