And I Have to Work on Boxing Day?

I am really not feeling Christmas. And yes, that is because there is no Christmas to feel, I know.
I spoke to my mother on the phone, and was listening to her tell me about Christmas shopping, and cooking, and how everybody has been running all over town etc. And I realised that I totally forgot what that was like. None of that here. People do gifts on New Year’s, but not to the degree that we do back home, it seems. And Christmas is a quiet holiday, more for a big dinner, and maybe church. More like Thanksgiving. They tell me that this is because of the Soviet crackdown on religious holidays, how Christmas was not really “permitted” as a major holiday. So people, being as people are, just moved it, rather than surrender it, and New Years became the thing.

Ironically, I have always hated New Years with the intensity of a thousand…um…a thousand really intense things.*

Anyway, I have found three reasons to get into New Years now: 1) No Christmas. 2) The metro--no waiting for a cab or a sober driver, neither of which seem available on the 31st of Dec. and 3) fireworks. Yes, they do fireworks here on New Years, and those of you who know me well know that I am like a lobotomised Muppet when fireworks go off. I love them. Like seriously, have them at my funeral love ‘em. So that should be good…

In the meantime, I am trying not to think much about what everyone is doing back home, for fear that I will miss it too much. This weekend, for the first time, I missed home. I was watching 30Rock on DVD and for no reason it suddenly reminded me of being back home, holing up in my apartment on a day off with Tom and watching every episode at least once. Which made me think of my apartment, and my unbelievably soft leather couch, where I’d sit drinking white wine with Portage and chatting. So to distract myself I made chilli, which made me miss even my slow-cooker, the one my sister Anna got me, which made me miss having sisters around who know what you like.

I missed peanut butter. I missed drinking tap water. I missed toilets that flush on the side, and being able to ask for help in a store. I missed my old apartment swimming pool and sauna. I missed storm-chasing with Jon. I missed buying aspirin without a dictionary. I missed Allison teasing me and I missed Julie freaking out about stuff. I missed seeing my friends babies grow up, and I missed wide streets and complete sidewalks. I missed a lot. For the first time, this weekend, I missed it all.

It passed, of course, and I didn’t miss anything enough to want to actually go back home. But if I could just see home, just for a day or two…just a little bit…

So I’ve been watching movies, trying to write, and reading a ton. A lot of Chuck Palahniuk, mostly. Right now I’m reading "A Clockwork Orange." Also, Kira just turned me on to Children of Men (movie and book.) I’ve been filling my head with bombs and anarchy, and other people’s thoughts.

So, uh, A Very Merry, Nihilistic Christmas from Ulitsa Dibenko, folks. It doesn’t get any less seasonal than this.



*I like to chalk it up to the first NY I remember, 1986-87. It was awful. Everyone counted down and cheered and hugged, and was so loud, and little Larissa, being absolutely exhausted and--hello--- five years old, I broke down and started crying “What was so bad about 1986?” I just remember my mother kind of looking at me strangely, giving me a hug, and putting me down to sleep on the bed with all the coats.
So psych majors, analyse that.