This was the first year that I didn’t spend Christmas Day with my parents. We stayed in bed, went to Rite Aid for beer and a plunger (why does the toilet stop working on Christmas Eve of all days?), and ate Mexican enchilada frozen dinners. I did miss having presents. I had said so many times that I don’t care about presents, and not to worry about getting my anything. And I don’t care about getting something to show off. But I decided that I do care that he goes out and gets something, anything, and wrap it for me. Think I can revise it for next year? It’s depressing not to have even one present to open. It’s nice to know someone thought of you.
I took a week’s vacation and we went and bought some furniture, made some art, now it looks like a real apartment. It feels like home. I love, love, love the apartment. I will miss it if we move to Austin. It feels like my first home.
For New Years, I stayed in bed again. Sick, watching 24. I have weird dreams from 24. I start to think people are following me. Conspiracy everywhere.
I hosted the friend’s Christmas party this year all by myself. It was a nice one. No getting too drunk, no late night martinis. Everyone loving the apartment and me finally getting Martha Stewart with the food preparation. I was pretty proud of myself. Buying wine, setting everything up, giving all the directions out, and still being ready early. The toilet didn’t work the night before, and I even taught myself how to use the plunger. I know it’s little things.