Every year around this time, Mom muses that men just get weird (well, more so than usual) around the holidays. She always says that they pull away or just plain act like shits — it’s genetic. Perhaps it has to do with the stress of the gift-buying season, but I hate to say it, neither of us ever really got anything from them — time or otherwise — during holidays past.

She said it again last night, just randomly, and I wondered if I am a man, baby, yeah! like that myself. I think there’s so much pressure to just get through the year — and the even bigger specter of all the things I *need* to accomplish in the new year — that I consciously try to simply keep it together for the remaining days of December.

And keeping it together is about all I am capable of achieving at this point in the year. Spreading joy is SO not possible right now. Perhaps instead of getting mad at those who seem to pull away for the holidays, we need to understand that there are definitely reasons (I should hope) and that we need to be respectful. I ask the same, although admittedly, I don’t know that I’d turn it away if someone, anyone just reached out to remind me that things will turn out OK.

I’m grumbling over a lot of little things that have bothered me for awhile but, at this time when everyone’s making resolutions to fix everything that’s wrong with their lives, the pressure’s truly on to start off the new year right. That means changing myself to stop obsessing about stuff and start figuring out what I can do to resolve that stuff — I need to obsess about the decisions and actions I need to take to finally get some peace of mind.

With my rent going up right now (and some bills sliding to the back of the priority pile because of it), I am really wondering about whether to suck it up and stay at my place for awhile or to just whore myself out as a fund-raising tool and just move already before the inevitable eviction notice arrives.

I was at a country club last night for a soiree, and during the drive there, I asked for some kind of sign about whether I should try to somehow save up for a move or whether I’d be better off paying more rent (and no moving fees) to stay where I am. Which means I need to hire a maid and get the carpets cleaned, but still.

My sign came at the coat check, when I went to claim my coat. My mind had wandered back to my wish for a sign about where to live. And when I looked at my claim check, my number was 703 — my current area code.

Not like I can’t take the phone with me, of course, but it was the sign I needed to fix what’s broken here before moving the mess elsewhere. My problem is that I don’t do well without deadlines and, at least with a pending four-month eviction notice, I knew I had four months to get my life on track.

Well, let’s consider this my six-month notice to myself to resolve all the junk I’ve been carrying for years as well as to find a new place that I’m not always scared to go home to on the first of the month, lest the eviction notice be lying under my door. I function well enough with uncertainty, but I’ve reached a point in my life where I need people, places and things upon which I can truly count.

“No Bullshit ’05” is drawing to a close. “No Bullshit — This Time I Really Mean It — ’06” (ha) is the real deal this time around. Even if I have to wiggle around on Santa’s lap for awhile to get my way, next year needs to rock socks. I need to rock socks. I am not giving myself another choice.

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