SuffoChristmas

I'm spinning around in circles. I've lost my Mom. I can't find her, and I've walked up and down every aisle. I'm not five years old and this is not a flashback. I'm 23 years old and I've lost my mommy. I'm in that place... that place surrounded by christmas music, where everything is red and green. That place where everyone goes to celebrate Christmas.

Where am I? Oh yeah. Target.

I'm shopping for Christmas presents, even though I have no money. Even though I know that presents are not what it's about. Even though I have no good ideas for anyone, and I have no desire to pretend that I know these people any more than I do. I have a sister in law, a brother in law and a new aunt this year. Can't even remember the Aunt's name. How am I supposed to buy her a gift? My uncle buys the entire family a tub of popcorn every year. We wanted to do that for him this year, but mom said that wasn't funny.

Mom. Where is my mom?

I feel more and more like I don't understand anything about life. How did Christmas become about...this? The worst part is, this isn't a new thought. Someone else always says something like this every year. How Christmas is a hollow shell. How no one really "feels" in the spirit of Christmas anymore. How we spend ten times the amount it would take to solve world hunger every year on shit we don't need. But nothing. We don't ever do more than complain. It almost seems like it's a part of the Christmas ritual to question the validity of this Christmas season and then do nothing about your convictions. I guess I just need to keep my head down, walk straight, and do my best to just survive this season. I'm dizzy.

I just need to get my mom and get out of here.

It's unfair. This numbness, this inability to think of anything but familial duty and my checking account balance, when I'm supposed to be remembering the only truly selfless action ever witnessed in the entire history of humanity.

It must be lame to have so many people who don't even acgnowlege you on your birthday.

He was born in a manger, you know? He was born in a feeding trough, and one of the wise men gave him embalming fluid. And we don't even remember. Happy birthday.

Mom found me. I'm getting out of here. Thank God (first time I've thought of Him all day). Me and Timmy are going to Dorithy's Place to throw a Christmas party for the homeless ladies he knows. We pray before we start. Timmy says that if we learn how to love people enough, somehow they will know where it comes from. Who taught him that? I certainly didn't. He and Karolina are at Dorithy's Place every Monday. Only missed three in the last two years.

Dorithy! That's my what new aunt's name is.

The women are all grateful. Timmy bought them Christmas presents. One of the women there told Timmy he was probably autistic. He thought she said "artistic", so he said thank you. We had pizza, and christmas decorations and candy. There was too much. We went out on the streets, and passed out candy and hot cocoa to the people who couldn't come inside. Tim says not to tell Mom or Dad, or Karolina's parents that we did that. They would make us stop coming if they knew we talked to people on the streets.

Life is not what i wanted it to be. One second, I am dizzy in Target, looking for my Mommy, questioning the purpose behind everything from gift giving to theology, to the breath coming out of my lungs, each consecutive cycle spending slightly more energy than it seems worth. The next moment, I am staring at my little borther, and his girlfriend, learning how to love people, learning enough that they would know why, and I am holding my breath for fear that my exhales would frighten this moment away.

So why should I care if my moments are pointless and numbing, or filled with purpose and hot cocoa? Either way, I can't breathe.