I'm staying home alone for Christmas this year because I am tired of the complicated dance involved with choosing between my parents. They always did a very good job of not putting me between them, but even the best of divorced parents are still divorced parents, and deciding on one will always hurt the other. Picking has made me feel guilty my whole life, and so this year I decided that since I'll feel guilty anyway, I might as well just disappoint everyone all at once and suit myself. So that's what I'll be doing.
Time lays heavy on "ce monde ou il faut que le coeur se brise ou se bronze," and I cannot currently work up any enthusiasm for any of this.
A couple of years ago, Hay-den and I decided to make a gingerbread house. We were going to do a perfectly unironic job, although we were going to make the icing purple. But when it came down to it the walls wouldn't cement together and the house would collapse in on itself. So instead, we let it all fall together, and then we threw icing and candy and powdered sugar on it. We called the gingerbread hovel "Hitler's Bunker" and vowed to only eat gingerbread houses from then on.
Hay-den's nickname for me is "Orange."
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