Thanksgiving is a week away. It’s officially the holiday season. The end of semester crunch is in full swing and I haven’t had more than four consecutive hours of sleep in about a week.
Typical.
I have a hard time with the holidays anyway. I don’t exactly have fond memories of family gatherings. I see my family all the time anyway so there’s no real sentimentality there. Plus, there is almost always a major family argument at every holiday gathering.
There’s a lot of prep work involved. Cleaning, cooking, and hosting are three things that I typically want nothing to do with but am saddled with. Everyone wants a plate, but no one wants to cook and suddenly disappears when it’s time to clean the kitchen.
If I could just have small celebrations with my little family, that would be enough for me. My husband knows I don’t holidays and would stand by me if I decided to opt out. My son is old enough to have his own social anxieties and prefers avoiding the crowd that would be gathered at my parent’s house anyway.
Sadly, I am the responsible, first-born and I can’t get out of this. I would have to be in the hospital or in prison to avoid it. Hell, I’m sure my mother could find some work for me to do from the hospital. Facebook invites need to be sent, you know.
