Grief Diary: New Year’s Nothing

I have always hated the holidays. Well, I don’t hate everything about the holidays. I like the pie and twinkly lights, but really, it’s the expectations and social exertion that I could live without. Also, the timing. The fact that New Year’s Eve is only one week after Christmas is infuriating. For a hardcore introvert like me, a week is not long enough to fully recharge my people batteries. By the time we get to New Year’s Eve, I have a very short fuse. I need about a month between major holidays.

Male usually spent Thanksgiving with his mom in Washington state and Christmas at his dad’s house in Philadelphia, but we always spent New Year’s Eve together. For him, it was about family, and his closest friends and I were that for him, more so than his mom and dad.

Male was an introvert, too, but every year, we’d have a battle between me wanting to stay in and him wanting to go out. His people batteries were fully charged for New Year and mine were drained. While he was stuck in Washington on Thanksgiving and Philadelphia for Christmas with his hypocritical alcoholic father who nagged him about drinking while drunk, I always have to do things on the holidays.

On Thanksgiving and Christmas, I go to my best friend’s house. She has orphan parties every year. If you don’t have anywhere to go, come on over. Bring some food, but you don’t even have to get dressed. Pajamas are encouraged. While they are very low-key events, they’re still events. It drains my people batteries, and these days, one week is not long enough between events.

There was a time, when I was young and stupid, when I would go out many times a week, but those weren’t parties as such. Parties are hard for introverts. You actually have to talk to people at parties and people are exhausting.

Way back when, I used to armor myself with alcohol. I become a regular, somewhat social non-introvert with alcohol, but since I don’t drink much these days, the introversion is taking its toll. I had one and a half drinks on Christmas even though I wasn’t driving. It was not enough, but I didn’t feel like drinking more.

A couple of years ago, Male and I waged this stay in/go out battle. He won and it ended badly with him falling off the wagon for a night. Last night, there was no battle. There was only me not wanting to go out.

To be fair, part of that is because of my dog. She is positively terrified of fireworks and I now live spitting distance from Universal Studios and their enormous NYE fireworks display.


I have never understood the point of fireworks, and especially now that I have a dog who’s terrified of them, I really hate them. In addition to sanctioned fireworks like the ones at Universal Studios, there were fireworks going off everywhere.

All fireworks are illegal in California, the land of forest fires and a persistent drought, but that doesn’t stop my idiot neighbors from lighting their own neighborhoods on fire. Angelinos are inordinately fond of shooting illegal incendiary devices skyward year round. Happy Tuesday! Let’s celebrate with noise and fire!

At midnight last night, it sounded something like Normandy beach on D-day. Nothing like a 70 pound, shivering dog in your lap.

As much as I hate the hoopla of New Year’s Eve, I would give anything for that battle with Male again. I would give anything to feel the frustration of one too many parties and not wanting to be out on New Year’s Eve. I would take a sloppy drunken Male over a dead Male any day. I am not ready to have his death be so last year.

Anyway, happy new year, my peeps. Here’s hoping this one’s better than the last. The good news is that it couldn’t really be much worse than 2015, the year of suck. Also, fuck your fireworks.