BLUE CHRISTMAS 2007

I really would have thought more people would have called me or sent me cards, presents, or good wishes. Didn't happen. Of course, my kids, husband, sister Becky, mom, Chris, and Cid acknowledged Rachel- and me, but nobody else. Really surprised me. Oh yeah, my cousins Sharon and Patty both emailed me and my Uncle Edsel and Aunt Betty sent me a card, but they always do. So hell, yeah, I'm feeling sorry for myself.

I feel like crying all the time. ALL THE TIME, but I don't. Somewhere in the back of my head, I have decided that yelling and bitching at people at this festive holiday season is a much better idea. I've yelled at my mother, my husband, my cousin Chris. And I mean yelled where people were scared of me! I yelled at my husband because he gave my daughter 6 of the big potatoes from Costco, so there wasn't going to be enough for Christmas dinner (uh, there was lbs left over) I yelled at Chris, because I yelled at John and she said "Well, aren't you the happy one!" So I yelled, "Well, maybe you'd be happy too if you got a dead daughter for Christmas", I yelled at my mother because she was defending my brother for being a total and complete pig, slob is too mild. It was kinda cool, actually. Powerful. I am not a yeller. I hate it. But I think I preferred yelling and being a bitch, to throwing myself prostrate at the ground and screaming.

That's what I want to do. Yell. "It's not fair! It's not fair! Why is that fucker George Bush alive and well, and my daughter isn't!" That's the only person I think of who I wish could take Rachel's place. George Bush. I really can't hate him enough.

Ok. I am crying again, but my mother is in the room, and I can't cry too much. I just don't want to. If I ignore her and type, she will leave me alone.

I really did my best to create the "Happy Christmas" this year. Tons of food, karaoke christmas carols, family etc. But everybody kept screwing it up by not being perfect, by not being Rachel.

Let's see what this year has brought me. Minor-I suppose I am still fat. Fatter. My husband is fat. Fatter. I lost my job and so did John. Big deal. We have new jobs. The year started out with a bang with my stepson going to jail-where he is still rotting. He's schizophrenic. Got it. Let him out. Nobody was hurt. That's been LOADS of fun. And Rachel. She's dead, dead, dead. She's not coming back. Ever. There aren't enough butterflies, or Oz photos, or Bible verses of "First Christmas in Heaven poems" that will make it better or bring her back.
Damn it to hell.

Merry Christmas.