The holiday season is one of my favorite times of year. I love the freshness of winter, the traditions, the anticipation, the coziness, seeing friends and family and the exchange of thoughtful gifts. Needless to say, I hate it here.
No one wants to cuddle up in front of the fire watching the snow fall and drinking mugs of thick hot chocolate when it’s nearly 90 degrees outside. It’s not Chile’s fault that Thanksgiving (not celebrated here, obviously) and Christmas fall in their late spring and early summer and, that in spite of this, they’ve tried to adopt all of our cheerful, snowy decorations. But I’m not feeling particularly charitable or like giving credit where credit is due.
The one thing I’m Thankful for this year is sleeping finally in the next room after a long day of playing and talking about dogs. And she is a lot to be thankful for (because’s she smart and adorable), because in all other realms of life, I’m doing quite miserably. Job search? Fail. Interpersonal relationships? Fail. Interviews? Fail.
And I’m depressed. I feel like it’s moved beyond melancholy now. It’s hard to get started in the morning and when I do I feel like I’m just going through the motions of feeding dressing and caring for an extremely spirited one-year-old while failing as a wife and otherwise interesting person you would want to talk to.
And I’m dreading, more than I can articulate, being away from my family (who, in all honestly, drive me out of my mind at times), but at least they get me, laugh at my jokes, and see me as something other than Squeaker’s diaper changer with talents to impart on the world other than butt wiping (not that I’m knocking a clean butt).
And I just want to cry. I want to stare into a snow globe until I’m transported back to Minnesota and kiss this patriarchal society, cliquey expats, and summer heat good bye. Since that won’t be happening, I’m stuck in this state of ennui.