As I sat in class this afternoon, the uppity "my life is so great" bitch who sits behind me kapet rambling on and on and fucking on about how glad she was that December had finally arrived.
I turned around at one point and asked her what, exactlly, made December fill her with so much glee.
"Well, there's Christmas, and then my birthday, and then the end of the year and the star of another. Everybody should love December. You get to see all the ones you love, open gifts, celebrate all the good things that happened the past twelve months, and say goodbye to all the bad things, too. It's not just becuase my birthday."
Well excuse me.
Oh. I'm glad that your life is so perfect that when the tree in your house is all decorated with twinkling lights, ornametns and tinsel, you'll be excited. Unlike me, who will probably just put the fucking tree against a wall in the corner waiting for somebody to come home and decorate it with me.
And I'm also glad that you can relive all your great momnets of the past 12 months and celebrate them. I, however, no matter all the good things that I can count from those months, will only relive the day that the woman I love more than anything told me that she didn't love me anymore as she walked down the hallway and out of my life.
Happy Fucking December.
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