Hope keeeps nudging against my hand as I type. The remnants of salty-delicious-cashews must still linger on my typing fingers. Another Christmas, dysfunc-funk-tional lullaby. Pulling myself from watching "The L Word", three beautiful blond labradours asleep around me - I should go to that party, maybe there's a mister right there - but I sip on my Absolut Manadarin and White Peach Cranberry and Moet & Chandon concocoction - take a bump and think shit - it's safe, in my homestead comfort reflected off the pulsing, plasama monitor before me. I wonder what could pull me from here as I listen to the chimes of the cell phone. Merry Gay Christmas - always one step different from what we grew up to expect. Hours distanced from the family regulariy. My brother with his wife and my sister with her husband and children. Knowing how they love me, knowing I've made them proud - but no competition for their ability to give birth and have weddings - things I'll never give my parents. My gifts - have price tags my family never thought we could afford - my wrapping is too perfect I felt embarassed that I put so much effort into it, the effort I would put into a lover. My parents give me an easel, sketching books, they want to see me embrace my artistic side again - I cringe, I feel like I'm in 9th grade and Susie Dressel is still the most beautiful girl in my world. Cody keeps nudging my hand. I crawl back to the bed - warm, safe, and text my friends messages of love.
Merry Dysfunc-funk=gay-tional Christmas.