Holidays on Eggshells, Day 2
The Honeymoon Period?
Day 2 (December 21) — 11:29 p.m., Sort of tipsy
Four days until Christmas, and not a creature is stirring at this late hour, except for Mavis. I hung out with Elise and a couple of her friends tonight, and perhaps had a little bit too much wine. I just got home 15 minutes ago, and Mavis was waiting for me at the door. I thought she was going to whip out the breathalyzer. Now she’s puttering around the house and lurking outside my bedroom door as I sit here writing. Just go to bed for the love of God, please.
Day 2 was pretty uneventful, but I have the sneaking suspicion that my parents don’t want to leave me alone. Do they think I’m going to spiral into some deep depression? (Oh, wait, been there done that already.) Find me in the bathtub clutching a razor blade? See me wandering the streets in my bathrobe while babbling incoherently and clutching a bottle of vodka? I wish they would jut let me be.
While my parents were both at their respective jobs, I spent the day reading, writing, napping and sitting outdoors on the terrace enjoying the weather and feeding peanuts to the squirrels. It was relaxing; for all the bitching I did about this trip, I’ve made the best of it. However, when Dick got home, it felt like the Spanish Inquisition:
Dick: What did you do today?
Anna: I just took it easy. Read, wrote, enjoyed the outdoors.
Dick: Really, that’s all you did? Did you leave the house?
Anna: Yes, to go sit outside…I fed the backyard squirrels some peanuts.
Dick: What?? Don’t you dare feed those damn rabid squirrels. They eat my plants. This year I sprayed pepper spray around the plants and I’ve given them fair warning. Next year, I’m using rat poison.
Anna: Seriously dad? They’re actually quite smart and have amazing athletic prowess. Please don’t poison them, that’s just awful. Plus, if we feed them peanuts, they’ll be too full to eat your plants. It’s a win-win.
Dick: (Huge sigh). I think you need to leave the house and stop isolating. Sitting outside and feeding those rats that climb trees is not healthy.
Sigh. Why do my parents think I must be “doing” something at all times? Why won’t they just shut up and let me smell the roses? When they’re home, they hover around me, making me feel like a 12-year-old. I know they’re probably worried following my psychotic break in October, but the hovering is actually making things worse. I wish they’d hover elsewhere.
Good night, I’m hovering on the brink of tipsy sleep.