This is a Christmas blog post? Alright.

Christmas is really fucking weird.

Like. For one week of the year, we're supposed to get together with people we never see otherwise and give them presents that they may or may not like? For existing???

I mean, honestly, it's hard to not look at that end of Christmas in Michael Scott's view: "Presents are the best way to show someone you care. It's like this tangible thing that you can point to and say 'Hey man, I love you this many dollars worth.'"

I don't want this to become a preachy soapbox thing where I wax rhapsodic a la Charlie Brown (or right-wing wing-nuts who sneer at a "Happy holidays!" greeting when really, isn't the thought behind ANY greeting at all better than nothing?). I mean, sure, there are those moments where I'd love to go back to the simpler times, when Christmas was a joy-filled dinner in my grandma's basement (no, really), but I'm grounded in the real world, where things move crazy fast and our society is always growing and expanding. I love that.

Um, anyway.

What I'm trying to get out in this blog post is how weird it all is. We literally save up money (or, in my broke-ass case, scramble to make non-existent money move around in a favorable way) to buy more things than we do for the rest of the year, for the people in our lives? But, like, 90% of those expected presents are for people we don't see except for when we're giving them presents? So we're conditioning children to Pavlov-dog their way into every family gathering??? I remember being disappointed when my uncle got re-married because I knew it was a big family event, and then I didn't get one gift. What IS that?! Yes, Meredith. Your uncle is getting married so here's a ton of presents! It's April!!!

...I truly don't know where I'm trying to go with this post but I suppose this is my Christmas gift to the internet. You're welcome.

ALSO!! IMPORTANT ~BLOGGER~ NOTE. I was one of those fools who hastily deleted my instagram account the second they pulled the rug out from under us pseudo-photographers, but I decided to take that and turn it into something positive to hide my shame for being so quick to remove my beautiful shots of my dog and beer. I made a new account, meredithcesare (whoa, just like my name!), and for the entirety of 2013, I am going to post one picture every day. It'll keep me a bit more reigned in and will really let my iPhone photo editing skillz (?) shine. So, if you want to follow that project (the more followers I have there, the more pressure I'll feel to actually keep up with this), go for it!

I also hope to actually blog more in 2013. This past year has kind of been a waste for me, intellectually-speaking. Obviously, I'm not back in school or anything like that -- nor do I ever plan to be -- but I really feel like I didn't accomplish anything. Sure, I saw a lot more responsibilities at work and helped put on some freakin' massive musicals and plays, but... I need a writing outlet. So. Peer pressure. Tell me to write.

AND, speaking of peer pressure, I also got a gym membership from my aunt for Christmas. I haven't had a gym membership in nearly three years, and after one dance rehearsal two weeks ago, I was sore for four days. I need to better myself. YELL AT ME IF I DO NOT TWEET REGULARLY ABOUT GOING TO THE GYM.

...

Merry Christmas?

Ugh, a blog post about ~feelings~ [Insert Liz Lemon eye-roll here]

In any given group of people, I'm that person.

The one who cheers too loudly, laughs too hard, cries for a little too long after the credits roll.

You name the feeling, I feel it. Strongly. Stronger than anyone else I know. It's all-consuming. I get excited to a fault; I put too much faith in people. In some settings, it's really good -- I don't think I would have been front row, center, for the Steve Martin concert last year if I hadn't parked myself outside the theater eight hours before he took the stage (for mic check -- it was an additional two hours before the actual show). 

Actually, in most situations, this is ultimately a good thing. Sure, I may take over peoples' Twitter timelines because I reply to comedy writers and celebrities all the damn time, but when exciting or genuinely nice exchanges come from it? Those tweets are worth it. When I'm working on a musical and can't see the light at the end of the tunnel that is tech week, I subconsciously dig my heels in a little deeper and pour every bit of energy in me into the production. It's exhausting and makes me unbearable to be around if you're not on my crew, but again, in the end, it's worth it. I'm so proud of the theater kids I've worked with who are now in college, off starting their own careers. I hope it's a comfort for them that no matter what they go on to do, they have at least one constant cheerleader who believes in them.

I'm not in the best of moods as I sit here, writing this, though. I'm watching The Fifth Element because I wallow in stupid girly feelings in really stupid ways, and I'm trying to keep my mind off circumstances that are making me really, really sad.

For all those times I feel so proud or excited or valued, I feel those stupid single girl feelings. Even though I don't see myself """"settling down"""" in the stupid traditional sense (what even IS traditional anymore?), I feel all those desires that go along with being a woman. I know that I'm not always the best at expressing those feelings, and I know that changing that is entirely in my hands, but when those feelings are as strong as they are, it's hard to get them out of my head. It's frustrating. It's also something I've been forced to grow comfortable with, as much as it sucks (like right now). Basically, when it comes to romance, there's a whole lot of thinking on my end, but not a lot of action. I like that I'm a grounded person, and on nearly any day, it serves me well. Then, there are days like today, where everything just builds up and comes to a frustrating head that doesn't offer any sort of closure or comfort. It's just a mess of feelings that I can't express quite to my liking or explain away. 

On days like this... I write. And I hope that someone reads what I write. And that maybe, something will resound within them, and they'll be a little better off for it. At least then I can feel like my mopey evening hasn't gone entirely to waste.