Defensive lying in Well now

This was another non-Christmas for me.
That’s okay because it was, as usual, completely my choice.

Alright.
You might be thinking, Christmas alone, not celebrating the day,
damn girl, that’s just sad.
Perhaps yes, but it is a cure for a more painful sadness.

Every year I lie, boldfaced and without terrible much guilt,
about Christmas.
I tell my family (and a few people who know and speak with my family members)
that I will be out of town over the holidays.
It started off as truth actually.

I spent a Christmas in Virginia, visiting with a friend.
I spent two Christmases in Las Vegas, visiting my difficult brother Nathe
because no one else would.

And then there were the magical London Christmases,
the first wonderful,
the second also wonderful but intensely foolish.

The most marvelous thing about travelling at Christmas is not having to be
at home with my family.
Christmases with my family, as a welcome guest, a peripheral relative,
simply depress me.

I cannot sit in on my sisters’ Christmases without becoming excessively sad.
I am happy that they are happy.
I am happy that they gather their children
and their grandchildren
and celebrate the holiday and each other.
I truly am.

Sigh.

The problem is,
Christmas is such a huge wonderful gaudy display of what I do not have,
what I never will have.
There are no children in my life, no grandchildren, no husband, no one special.
There are just my well-meaning loving but exhausting siblings
and my fading father.
Much as I may love them, they do drive me insane under normal circumstances,
and Christmas is life in hyperbole.

Oh, this makes no sense the way I’m telling it,
but it is true and deep and I wish I could feel otherwise.
I wish I could do Christmas with them with an open and joyous heart,
but I just can’t.
I’ve tried and ended up jaw sore from the fake smile
that evaporated as soon as I left the festivities
and found myself morphing into depression that lasted for longer than I care to confess.

I know my family doesn’t want to make me unhappy.
I also know that they would be intensely hurt by the fact
that Christmas with them makes me so.
That’s why, when money got tight and I could no longer travel at Christmas
I started lying.

For years now I’ve been lying about going out of town for the holidays.
I tell them that I’m going back to Virginia to visit Ivy
and to enjoy a Christmas with real winter weather,
sometimes even snow.
(Everyone in the family knows I have a thing for snow.)
It’s become an accepted event, my winter travel, my Christmas tradition,
And no one’s feelings are hurt, at least not as far as I know.

It’s so much better and easier.
Even if it means I have to make a few fake phone calls “from out of town.”
(Thank heavens for cell phones.)
Even if I have to make certain I keep abreast of weather conditions around the country
in case my faux flights might be complicated by delays in major hubs.
(Thank heavens for the internet.)

It just works out better for me.
I’d rather have a ho-hum day, doing laundry and other banalities,
than a week or more of depression from being a part of the festivities.

Anyway, I did get a lot of housework done today.
Sorted out a lot of things that need to go to Goodwill
and even more that need throwing out.
Which reminds me.
I need to go put out the garbage.