Mother

Another lazy afternoon curled up in bed with The Squeeze, another 'farewell' by twilight. We kiss, we hug, we shiver our pants off in the cool evening air- such is the basis of Great British romance.
He retreats into the night, merely a shadow in the distance- I wonder where the night might take him. Disappointingly, it takes him 5 minutes up the road to the bus stop, but these are tough times for drama and mystery.

I head into the porch, hang my key chain (around 20 keyrings attached, including a piranha from the Sealife Museum, a Volkswagen beetle and lego figures of Chewbacca and Doctor Octopus), next to my Mom's (complete with smiley face and hearts keyrings, lovely,) and my brother's (bearing only one keyring- a green plastic one bearing his name, very uncreative).

Kicking off my boots is the last moment of peace I am granted- as soon as I get through the door, I am bombarded by people carrying beige curtains, chairs, vases, and a mirror bigger than me through the house. Of course- my Mother is decorating again.

I find her in the dining room- the room currently under renovation- the gleeful look of a child on her face.

'It's all coming together!' she enthuses, 'What do you think?'

'It's nice.' It's pretty much the same as before.

She clasps her hand to her heart, looking distraught. 'Oh angel, baby, honeypie! I got so caught up here, I completely forgot to cook! Do you mind making yourself something, just this once?'

'Of course not'- this is just an elaborate ruse for the sake of the decorators- my Mother tries to maintain her image of being homely and down-to-Earth; truth is, she doesn't cook. I prefer it that way- her attempts at cooking are fairly disastrous.

I start preparing pasta salad, with neopolitana sauce, salmon, cheese, chili and peppers.

'Oh, darling,' I hear her call, 'You did put enough on for me as well didn't you?'

'Of course.' Of course.

I stir in the last of the sauce, serve it into two bowls and sprinkle it with parmesan.

When I take it to her in the dining room, she looks ecstatic again.

'Oh sweetheart, I could hug you!'

Of course, she doesn't.

Fever

Midnight has never felt so frantic. I write as a girl who is hapless, jobless- but not so loveless. But, then again, this isn't love. Bloody Hell, I'm going mad.
The four walls that taunt me all the way through these family-oriented holidays scream of claustrophobia. Of course, I love the scores of obscure family members who traipse in and out of our house at this time of year, but I'm left here in the evenings feeling slightly infuriated, dissatisfied and once again, alone. I need a party- a day out- anything more than another day listening to my mother, or consoling H with her troubled love life. I find myself recalling last week's party from the vantage point of decades of nostalgia. I need to get out.
I need to see him. No, I don't. Shut up, self. He is fun; he is distraction; he is one of many. But... it's been so long. He makes me blush. I haven't said a word to him, but... I miss him?
What the Hell is this? Lust? Onset of cabin fever? Desperation? An actual feeling? Somewhere along the line, I became quietly guarded and cynical, carefully disguised by layers of flighty optimism. But, I want to let my guard down. Maybe. Just talk to him. And kiss him. And-and...
No, not on a Holy Day.

Saturday was strange as well. 2 guys tired to kiss me, 3 guys held me when I was sleeping, there was talk of a date, I got a massage in public view, and grinded with pretty much everyone on the invite list. But none of this seemed to matter. No hands on my hips or lips on my cheek or arms around my neck seemed to interest me. But I didn't feel cold or withdrawn- it was a welcome sensation, not craving another person like that. My boredom with the opposite sex may have had nothing to do with him.
It probably didn't- I'm pretty sure this is just cabin fever. Being cooped up like this is just magnifying every little emotion I have. This is nothing- I've never even spoken to him. Just- looked.
But, I remember that time I tired to ignore him, tried to detach myself. I hope- if he has even noticed me- that he doesn't feel as confused as I do right now. But, then again, yes I do.
Jesus Christ- Merry Christmas.