Evil repeats. Every jungle has it’s darkest heart. Every year has it’s 25 days of Christmas. Actually that’s 25 days plus the after Thanksgiving leftovers. It’s hard to count those though, they’re just carcass and gizzards.
Is this you’re first Christmas? Oh, well you’re gonna want to save that carcass then: you’ll want something to throw at the carolers. Yeah, first Christmases after divorce blow. I’m sorry, where you looking for something uplifting? Try picking up a rock. Bah-humbug.
Sorry, last Christmas was my first one alone. It sucked. Oh, I survived, and enjoyed it the best I could, but lets face it. Christmas is supposed to be Whoville singers and growing hearts. My first Christmas was joyless Mudville and struck-down Robby. Not the same thing, let me tell ya.
“Look on the brighter side!”
Yeah, whatever. It’s impossible. Silver linings are for Cruella Deville’s puppy coat, cuz that’s the closest thing you’ll find on your first Christmas after divorce. Trust me, if you’re like me, you’re skulkin’ the streets hunting reindeer steaks.
“Run Rudolph Ru---“
Bang!
“Oooh, that red nose probably wasn’t your best strategy…”
Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas. I love Santa. I love Frosty. I love me eggnog long time. Ok, I love the eggnog most of all, but it’s a wholesome love, and it really does help make the first Christmas blurrily bearable.
I know, right now you’re going, “Uhm…what did we ever do to you, Rob?”
Nothing. This is my Christmas gift to you: Reality.
See I was reading other blogs, like I do every year, to figure out who’s naughty and who’s nice, and I read one that said that suggested that other bloggers weren’t helping people. They weren’t moving on, and they weren’t showing others how to move on. That’s right. She was talking about me! It didn’t sound like me, but who else would she be talking about? What other bloggers are there? I’m the fatboy’s Christmas gift to mankind. That’s right, I am your Christmas freakin’ miracle. Yes, yes, I see your tears of joy from here. You’re welcome.
See, according to that blogger, other bloggers weren’t moving on. I know, I’ve said that already, but I feel it important to repeat things, otherwise I forget. This blogger was accusing us of only repeating the pain. A sort of holiday masochism: Peppermint stick caning for candy coated welts of red and white--or even worse, extracting the pure vanilla bitterness caused by their spouse and swallowing it straight.
“Ho! Ho! Ho!”
“Yeah @#$& you too, you limp—“
God bless us all everyone! You get the idea. Still, I say this blogger couldn’t have been reading my blog. I say nothing but the kindest words about MyEx and her Quasimodo hump. In fact I hope that Santa leaves her all the coal her pantyhose will hold. What? Stockings? No, se wears hose though, and I want her to stay warm this Christmas.
I care. I’m full of the nog of human kindness.
That’s because this is our second Christmas. I’m healing. No matter what I’ve been accused of, I’m moving on. Is it because I’m going to spend some time with somebody else this Christmas? I’m not gonna lie, that doesn’t hurt, but really I think that’s putting the sleigh before the deer. Santa’s got scars from trying that one. That’ll teach him to mix vodka and milk. Gravity is one lumpy coal of reality.
Let’s mine some more reality: Real Rob is only lovable in a grinchy kinda way, but black cloud of divorce Rob? Yeah, that’s a grade o’ gloom only a mother could love and even she’s does that from afar.
“No need to visit Rob, I know how you hate to travel over the holidays.”
It’s fine, because I know it. That leaves me with a choice: hunt more reindeer or to deck my halls with gifs of Holly Hunter. I choose Holly. Why wouldn’t I? See despite how much I disparage this other blogger for calling me reindeer names, she’s right. We need to move past it.
So how do we do that? Well for each of us that snow path is different. I could tell you all the cool things you can do with your holiday to make it better, and during the next 23 days, I probably will, but know that if this is your first Christmas, that may not work. For some of us, the first Christmas is about just settling down for a long winter’s nap, because the only reason we’re even thinking about crawling out of bed is to BBQ another elf on the spit. I’m sorry; they prefer to be called little people, how insensitive of me.
The first Christmas isn’t about Rudolph and Frosty, it’s about Bruce Willis and Die Hard. It’s getting through the holiday, alive. But once you do that, then you grow and do your best to enjoy it. If you can, spread the cheer. That’s what I’m doing.
I’m here to make your Christmas unforgettable. Aren’t you blessed? Yeah, what’s more I’m spending my Christmas with one lucky reader this year, and it’s all because I made it through the first holiday, and moved on. I’m leaving MyEx in Christmases past, and looking forward to Christmases future. Like Bob Scrooge, I’m changing my ways. Not Bob? Well I’m sure Bob changed his ways this year too.
So did Rob. I’m heading into the new holidays. I’m not repeating my path. Last year I survived. This year I’ll make it something special—for me and for somebody else. And isn’t that what the holidays are about? So come along with me as we face a new holiday.
Uhm, I meant that figuratively. You can’t join me—sorry. I’m just evil that way. Welcome to Christmas.
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