New Years Deja Vu

The Holidays are hard for a lot of people. For those who live on this island, the Holidays, which are about a three month festivity, can be hell.


I try to go with the flow.  For the sake of the kid and sanity. But I could do without a day in particular:

New Year's Eve.

From ever since I can remember, it is a day where at the stroke of midnight,  many drunken folk cry and hug and apologize for being assholes, make promises they know they won't keep and take the civil human being out for a stroll. As a child, it was a night where my parents, drunk to their armpits would make us accompany them to whatever party and then take us to a secluded place of the house to countdown till 12, just us four. Sounds sweet, even pretty unoffensive. But they were drunk and cried and slobbered us with Coors Light smelling kisses. As a teen it was equally painful. The difference being that my folks no longer spent it together.  We always got stuck with Vader and Vietnam would call in at 12 sobbing that next year he would spend it with us.

He never did.

Now as an adult and with the booming age of technology,  New Year's Eve is equally pathetic and entertaining. All the chain, generic text messages, some from people who you don't have a clue cause you don't have their numbers stored. Vader and Vietnam on my case as to where I'm gonna spend it. My bro and his wife kissing at 12 while I sip on my Red and wonder when I can go to bed. And the ever so entertaining texts of the Walking Dead exes who get nostalgic.

Have you've gotten the underlining of how I dislike this evening?

I make no plans. No resolutions. I don't look back on the year. I refuse.

I cried. I laughed. I learned.  I move on.

So this year I am again ready. Vader will make us watch some cheesy local countdown. Vietnam will call and cry. Bro will kiss his wife. And I will sip Red while the kid kisses me.

I will laugh. I will cry. I will learn. I will move on.

Santa Maria

It happens twice a year, every year. Final week of school meltdowns. For both of us.

Add in the tween component and it is an episode of the Real Housewives of Bayabronx.

I hate studying with her. I hate it when you ask her what we need to study and she has no clue. I hate when you ask her a question, give her the answer, immediately ask her the question again and she stares at your forehead like the answer is gonna Ouija its way on there.

Sir Francis Drake? Columbus?  Spain's Queen and King? Nada. Zilch.. Zero.

Then she cries and balls up her fist and I can see the vein in her throat pulsing.
I hate she makes me angry. I hate that I yell.

Patience wears thin at this time in the semester.

I hate this age of hers. It adds flair to an already heightened event.

When she rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath...

Tweens, just like wire hangers, deserve a special place in hell.

And so tonight, just like every other week of finals, she cries and yells and adds phrases such as  I "ruin her life".

And I turn into my mother pointing out I had "no one" to help me study and she is ever so fortunate.

And we sleep without another word, between Columbus, the Spanish Royalty and me feeling it has all sunken down with the Santa Maria and we just need to make it to shore.

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