I cannot remember the last New Year's Eve I spent truly alone.
Not that I especially despise being single on New Years - a year ago close friends and kaleidoscopes were all I needed to brave the arctic conditions. In fact I've probably been single more years than I haven't, or at least none of the midnight kisses I recall were ever worthy of the Empire State Building. Even the years of in-house call as a resident, I was always surrounded by people. Takeout Chinese food, bootleg non-alcoholic sparkling cider, and emergency surgery; those Eves were almost as lively as the [also non-alcoholic] parties we had in high school and college.
Here I am still completely adrift. Back to being a nameless nobody in an even bigger hospital. An anonymous neighbor. A sometime acquaintance. A vague junior partner. A Herman's Hermit. I would almost rather go back to a particularly rocky NYE that squeaked by with LED lights and an impromptu Milli Vanilli dance-off than to be here in this current time and space. Even if I wasn't covering our practice from home all week I wouldn't waste a bottle of champagne on myself.
I know I feel this emptiness more vividly than usual because I just got back from one of the most functional family Christmas vacations in history. The proper ratio of frozen to running water for both snowball fights and epic waterfall splash-zones (thank you Oregon weather gods). The task of clearing the wine crawl-space before my parents had to vacate the condo for the last time ever. The realization that skiing is breathtakingly glorious once I got past the Buttercup bunny-hill and learned to sandwich instant-hand-warmers between two layers of gloves. Channeling my fear of imminent death or dismemberment into extremely tight turns and geriatrically-slow speeds. Explaining male bodily fluids in front of my father to a non-native English speaker via Cards Against Humanity. Getting lost in a galaxy far far away. Seeing my brother in love. Learning when it is and when it is not "too late for bread."
Four days. Enough to remember how it feels to be surrounded by the people who love you no matter what. But not to cause undue damage to the wood floors or drop too many crumbs and RUIN Christmas.
I had even somehow gotten my shit together enough to make an entire array of from-scratch cookies, pick out (hopefully) useful gifts, and mail various versions of semi-upbeat holiday cards in time to make spirits bright. But all that Christmas momentum died when I got off the plane at LAX. Now I'm just back to existing. To keeping the cats fed. To making sure the bills are paid. To taking care of patients. To hoping that's enough for now.
Don't even want to reflect on the year in its entirety. The dizzying ups and downs and creamy middles were enough the first time around. Only wish I was better at capturing the extremes of emotion and harnessing them into something worthwhile. I bought a book on making friends as an adult - maybe I'll actually read it. I signed up for some activity groups - maybe I'll finally go to one. I quit all the bogus dating sites - because, as my momma said in a quote that I cannot place but quickly scribbled down, "well that was fun but useless." I don't need to use someone for their Christmas tree decorating or their cable TV if they're not going to realize that I'm worth it.
I wish I could take another deep breath of that fresh attitude I had a week ago.
Not that I especially despise being single on New Years - a year ago close friends and kaleidoscopes were all I needed to brave the arctic conditions. In fact I've probably been single more years than I haven't, or at least none of the midnight kisses I recall were ever worthy of the Empire State Building. Even the years of in-house call as a resident, I was always surrounded by people. Takeout Chinese food, bootleg non-alcoholic sparkling cider, and emergency surgery; those Eves were almost as lively as the [also non-alcoholic] parties we had in high school and college.
Here I am still completely adrift. Back to being a nameless nobody in an even bigger hospital. An anonymous neighbor. A sometime acquaintance. A vague junior partner. A Herman's Hermit. I would almost rather go back to a particularly rocky NYE that squeaked by with LED lights and an impromptu Milli Vanilli dance-off than to be here in this current time and space. Even if I wasn't covering our practice from home all week I wouldn't waste a bottle of champagne on myself.
 |
| a rare sighting of Mt Hood at sunrise |
Four days. Enough to remember how it feels to be surrounded by the people who love you no matter what. But not to cause undue damage to the wood floors or drop too many crumbs and RUIN Christmas.
I had even somehow gotten my shit together enough to make an entire array of from-scratch cookies, pick out (hopefully) useful gifts, and mail various versions of semi-upbeat holiday cards in time to make spirits bright. But all that Christmas momentum died when I got off the plane at LAX. Now I'm just back to existing. To keeping the cats fed. To making sure the bills are paid. To taking care of patients. To hoping that's enough for now.
Don't even want to reflect on the year in its entirety. The dizzying ups and downs and creamy middles were enough the first time around. Only wish I was better at capturing the extremes of emotion and harnessing them into something worthwhile. I bought a book on making friends as an adult - maybe I'll actually read it. I signed up for some activity groups - maybe I'll finally go to one. I quit all the bogus dating sites - because, as my momma said in a quote that I cannot place but quickly scribbled down, "well that was fun but useless." I don't need to use someone for their Christmas tree decorating or their cable TV if they're not going to realize that I'm worth it.
I wish I could take another deep breath of that fresh attitude I had a week ago.
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