a Cheap Holiday

Cheap Holiday

Welcome to a cheap holiday in my life. At least you get to go home at the end of the day!

Tuesday, December 25, 2001

Insomnia gripped me on Christmas Eve, well to 3 am. This had more to do with the white mocha latte I had in the afternoon than anticipation of the Fat-Man-Weeth-Bag. At the age my family and its children are, all the presents are under and on the tree (in envelope form - CASH!) by Christmas Eve afternoon. My nephew was allowed to open one present last night to allay his excitement for another twelve hours.

My Dad's bathroom scale indicates I've gained 4 pounds in the first 4 days of my vacation. This sounds extreme, but is pretty common with me. To maintain my current size 10 body - now precariously verging on a size 8, which is what keeps me so highly motivated - at my advanced age, I have to consume as few calories as I can without fainting on a daily basis. True, my workout schedule got spotty in the last 3 months, but I've started picking it up again. I'll actually be going to a gym during my vacation, which is unheard of in my history. Hopefully this afternoon, the weather won't be so bone-chilling that I can go for a bit of inline skating in the neighborhood.

I'm sure any nutritionist would argue that I'm slowing my metabolism down further by limiting my caloric intake. In the interest of full disclosure, I can't say exactly what my daily caloric intake is because I'm not counting every single calorie. I'm sure the white mocha lattes are packing a sugary whallop, but they also have milk, which has calcium. I just try to eat smaller portions of everything, not eat late in the day, force myself to feel a bit more hungry than the average person, and not eat out as much as I have in the past. Once this holiday Carnival of Food is over, I can be back in my regular environment and concentrate on the major task at hand, which is losing the dreaded "Last 10 Pounds" and getting some more definition into my musculature.

Tonight, Rachel, Harbourwoman, and I will be attending a quasi-private party with Dreamboy. I have to admit that the prospect of socializing out in Raleigh, especially along S. Glenwood Avenue (or GLO-SO, as some more acerbic denizens have labeled it), fills me with an amount of loathing and dread. The reason is that I seem to have developed a finely tuned ability for running into men from my past. This can be pleasant - as was the case with running into Bassman and Dreamboy over Thanksgiving - or it can be a magical dream that disintegrates into a stunning horrorshow, whose aftermath is still being felt and played out behind the scenes. That was last Christmas.

My anxiety for this Christmas is the strong possibility of running into my most recent ex-boyfriend, who will no doubt be in the area visiting his family and will likely socialize the same sorts of spaces I will. This is potentially an incendiary event, especially since the fucker still owes me $1000 AND my collectible vinyl LPs. That just sounds like a bad pop song, but I swear it's true. After huge amounts of complaining about how his friends wouldn't pay him back his loans, he goes and defaults on me. Irony, thou art my one and true Bitch Goddess.

The thing is, I'm fairly certain that if he saw me in-person right now, he'd lay on his whole charm routine, because he just can't bear to not be charming or to feel that people in the room perceive him as anything other than charming and handsome and articulate and magnetic. Screw that. If he gets in the same room with me, the only words coming out of my lips are going to be "Where's my goddamn money?!!"

As for the clueless boy last Christmas who treated my affections and feelings as if they were as common as hydrogen, he doesn't even deserve the privilege of my anger any longer. He no longer exists to me. He is the shadow of an awful nightmare that continues to fade with each passing day. I think I could almost walk by him in broad daylight now and not blink. Almost.

This theory might be put to the test in the coming week.


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