Deezil.us

If Christmas and love are supposed to be filling the air, I’m just suffocating.

This season is just not doing it for me.
What is it not doing, gentle reader? It’s not fulfilling me the way I want to be fulfilled.
It’s no secret that I pine for love. I’ve done it in so many entries that I dare not link them, or else every word in this sentence would be underlined. But this season of the year, I find that love is so much more in demand. Everyone’s in love. They’re buying gifts for their sweethearts. They meet their loves under the mistletoe for that one, breath-taking, panty-dropping, mesmerizing kiss.
And unless I’m the one receiving or delivering that kiss, it disgusts me.
I’ve got prospects (but when do I not have prospects), and the winter road trip 06 is going to add some definition to my love life. In my first stop, I’m going to ask the person that says she loves me to define that love on a certain level. I hope it’s the level that I think it is. If that doesn’t work, then I have two stops to make in a much larger city, and those will just be for dates, just to see if things may go anywhere farther than the friendships we have. And then one more stop in my hometown of Murray. (Ed. Note – Murray is now my hometown, by decree of Governor Ernie Fletcher and myself). It was that elusive “last date” I talked about oh so long ago. She’s started contacting me, out of the flippin blue, and we are kinda doing that dance around the first date subject. Maybe we should go on one?
I dunno.
And as for that Christmas spirit… I dunno where he went this year either. Guess he decided to prune me from his friends list. I don’t get the honor of hanging out with him. It’s just like this year is the antethesis to what it was all the years in the past. When you were younger, you couldn’t wait. You wanted to tear open the pretty wrapped packages that were just taunting you under the tree. Just to see what all treasures they contained. Now, you already can guess what is in most of them, if you didn’t blatantly pick them out yourself, and getting up at 5 in the morning to see them just doesn’t tickle your trout like it used to.
Tickle your trout…hah!
Anyway, enough of my self-loathing. I’m not turning into an emo-blogger.