loneliness on Christmas

Sometimes playing dress-up is far too easy and far too deceiving.  I live six hours from where I grew up in an apartment that I pay for with my paycheck.  After enough of that paycheck flows out to fund corporate America, I have enough left over to fill my empty days and nights (those that aren't spent using my researching, thinking, and paper-writing skills) with more than the appropriate amount of fun.  I own my car (albeit it a paid-for-by-a-check gift from my father), enough technology to keep me semi-current, and a few well-placed designer shoes, sweaters, shoes, scarfs and leather goods.  Except for a few closely-held friends and this online journal that no one reads, I keep my personal feelings and problems to myself.  It is with all of these things that I keep at the end of a micromanaged leash that I can say that at a bare minimum, I leave my house every day feeling a tad more than presentable and the image I project is one of self-confidence and success.

Here's the thing though, it is all a mirage.  I may look and sound like my shit is together, but at the core I feel like I am spinning on a merry-go-round barely able to keep myself on the ride let alone keep the real parts of me (emotions, desires, wishes, obsessions, etc.) from spinning off into oblivion.  Today, my thoughts resound with the phrase "epic fail."  Despite being surrounded by my family, I am essentially alone on Christmas.  I make no secret about the fact that I wish for a partner, someone to share my life with.  I envision something The Family Stone-esque--coming home with a man in tow and having someone to go to bed with, someone special to exchange gifts with, and someone to drive home with.  Not having it is driving me crazy.  My family is driving me crazy and I want classic, old Hollywood love to give my sanity back to me.

Perhaps wishing for something before its fruition is the biggest folly and the most telling sign of my immaturity.