Christmas in the Keys
Mom and I share a ton of connections on Faceypages. She was always the cool mom who knew my friends.
I mean, she baked/cooked for us and took us places. But they LOVED her, too.
Heck, she had an open invitation from all of them to hang out anytime. Let’s face it, she’s hilarious.
Since she knows my FB world, she points out that I get next to no engagement on photos from paradise.
I mean, it’s fine. It’s my wall. I’m the one who scrolls through the Memories and smiles when I remember what we did or saw or enjoyed on that day.
But she pointed out what I didn’t want to notice. Which is that I CLAP FOR EVERYBODY and I barely see the same in return.
I am grateful for the opportunity to, say, spend Christmas in the Keys.
What they don’t see is that I didn’t go shit all of anywhere for two years.
Or all the health problems that probably should have prevented this visit.
Or how fucking HARD it was to make sure I have a clean house to return to …
How goddamn miraculous it was to get Mom and three cats packed and shoehorned into a coupe …
And how physically straining it has been to drive a furry family of five long distances when two out of five used the car as their toilet.
So if I post a picture of a fucking sunrise or sunset, for fuck’s sake if I have celebrated YOUR goddamned victories, throw a sister a like.
Especially if you like every other post I ever make about politics or stupid stuff that happens.
It truly will not kill you or detract from your own happiness, I promise.
It normally doesn’t even bother me, but I noticed I lost like 10 “friends” this week. Shit, I don’t lose that many during an election season when I talk about what a piece of shit TrumpSantis is.
Is it over … I don’t know … me not sitting at home working?
Not rushing around buying presents for kids who will open them and disappear with them for the day?
Not cooking a feast that will knock me out for the next two days from the shopping, stress and back pain?
Maybe I’m overthinking it. But again, I see these people get to do stuff I would like to do. And I think, that’s awesome for them. Period. Give them a heart and tell them to enjoy. NOT HARD.
I do have one friend who every now and again does get to do special things. Maybe not elaborate or exquisite, but stuff I sure wouldn’t mind doing myself.
They always say stuff I know they don’t mean, like “enjoy your meaningless lives, peasants.”
Meaning they are living the high life for a few hours or days; sorry you aren’t. And it rubs me so wrong. (I never like those posts.)
OK, so fine, I really don’t like all their good-life posts. You caught the Tater.
In any event, not to brag but I’ve had a great week and I’m about to have another one.
Maybe the more intellectual among us can appreciate that I paid a steep price (and not just financially) to sit on my ass at a beach resort.
And maybe, just maybe, if they make the same sacrifices … and, let’s be real, if they have the exceptionally good fortune I have … I hope they can, too.
