You know the song “I’ll Be Home for Christmas?” It isn’t actually happy. It ends with “if only in my dreams…”
I am currently in Las Vegas and the furthest thing from home for the holidays that I could possibly imagine. Inexplicably, it all just hit me. Suddenly I’m sad.
Ridiculous. Going home wasn’t an option. What is waiting for me in Tucson will probably be the best Christmas I’ve had in years. It’s a tiny regret of not leaving yesterday and a long ride through the night to get there.
Should I have stayed in Charleston? That seems like a hopeless thought to bother exploring. Hotel KLA is still under reconstruction from the flooding and KLA is in an actual hotel for the holidays. My first year of Nachos, Tacos, and Tequila will have to wait another year. Maybe all of this was too much leaping at once. No, I take that back.
Christmas would have been hard no matter where I ended up. There’s too much involved. It isn’t home I’m missing, it’s the idea of what home used to be that maybe never was that bothers me.
Maybe this realization that home isn’t happy is the grown up version of not believing in Santa anymore. Yes Virgina, you’re family is crazy.
For now, I’m going to suck it up. Pack it up. Dry these silly tears and hit the casino. If I’m going to try my luck, I’d rather it be with my money than my heart this year. I hear there’s Christmas cookies for me to decorate in Tucson.