Baby Jesus gene break-out

Each time at this year, the Baby Jesus gene twitch into gear in Mark and his mother. There are talk about the mange, the crib, the plans for doing the local vicar a favour and decorate the display. As a card-carrying atheist, I know this is the time to step out of the way because religion is about to intrude into my life.

In other words, we had Mark’s parent over last evening, and they talked what they would do for Christmas. They didn’t ask it outright, but it was clear they wanted us to come to Wiltshire over the holidays. We spent last Christmas here at home. My mother folks came over on the 24th, and then we went to Mark’s parents after. This time they want us to spend the whole holiday there.

Mark has already prepared his folder for what he’s going to make for Christmas. My man has a plan, and by the end I’m sure it will be an inch thick with copious amounts of post-it notes on sheets of paper inside the folder. This year we’ll have Christmas boon. I’ll get my salary from the internship, and I won’t have to spend it until well into January. Which means I can afford something special for Mark. I don’t know what. Yet.

We’ve been together for over four years now. Married for over two years. That man can still make me lose my breath, like earlier when I home and saw him in the window of the kitchen, from the outside. He’s more blondish now, so it looked like he had a halo. It was dark, and there was my haloed man. He is the most beautiful thing, sometimes. And when that happens, it’s like being stabbed, and being stabbed feels good. Weird.

We wouldn’t be forgiven by the family if we just went away this holiday, but I think I’d like to do that. Just the two of us. I could thank him for being so patient with me, with the work-placement and everything. I do love him. Something fierce. And that’s all right, isn’t it? What on Earth would I be without him?

The 11th is my last day here for this year. I won’t come back until 4th of January. Then it will be a race to get the new issue out, but hey – there’s a chasm of time between now and then. And there will be lots of time to act the love fool. I haven’t done that much, and someone in this household deserves some serious doting, and that someone isn’t me.

Pink party post

Today I spent most of the time feeling very sorry for myself. We came home at two thirty in the morning, and while I kept the drinking to a minimum because of having to wake up at six, I still managed to feel hung over.

Mostly it was the ‘fall asleep at 3 am and get up at 6 am’ that got to me. I was so tired all day. I even nodded off after dinner, in front of the telly. Mark mocks me mercilessly for it. He calls me a bourgeois reactionary, because I plopped my arse down in front of the telly after work. I’m lucky X Factor wasn’t on, or I’d never have lived that down.

Luckily, we don’t have any issues coming out, so at work we’re doing pet projects. The sort of projects there’s never any time for otherwise, but which are dusted off and opened in times like these. The next issue comes out in January.

Still, the weekend was fun and cathartic. For a little bit, I could pretend that I’m still a part of the student body of this town. I even managed to bump into some yearlings. And, amusingly enough, I’ve never looked so stereotypically gay as I did last night when I wore not only skinny jeans but also a cerise top. Yes, yours truly went out in skinnies and pink.

I almost wish I’d had some glitter to sprinkle in my hair. It would have topped off my appearance perfectly. I mean, if one is going to go that way, one must go all the way. Right? Isn’t adulthood all about centred around a desire to relive the pre-20s in one’s life? Best I start early.

Tomorrow will be easier. It will still be quiet and calm. I’ll be able to sit down in my basement room, tinker on the Mac, read whatever I have to read. But minus the dehydration, the aches in the joints and sinews, and the desire to yawn all the time. It will be great.