We can't all get what we want for Christmas. Especially when we're atheists.

On the verge of a new year, I find myself alone in my apartment in a contemplative mood. Was canceled on for hanging outs this afternoon, and the wine I have tastes very strange, and leaves dark purple veiny-looking residue on my tongue. This has been a year of the stupid things I've done catching up with me and showing me what-for.

In February, I will have been single an entire year. I'm quite pleased with this, but in my previous post I think it's clear that the whole affair has its shortcomings.

This year I did nothing really worthwhile. I shared a few beautiful moments with a smattering of people and came to know myself a little bit more. Seems to be the older I get, the less I like myself.

Will tomorrow feel any different than today? Days mean little.

‎"They lived in ugly places where there were only ugly things to do. They didn't own doodley-squat, so they couldn't improve their surroundings. So they did their best to make their insides beautiful instead." - KVJ

All I want for Christmas is to get laid.

As a grown woman of some small amount of self-confidence, I find being stood up by men almost painful enough that I don't date. Because I dislike spending large amounts of time by myself, I try and make plans for the evenings. When I'm told by someone that they would like to hang out on a certain night, I make sure not to make other plans that night.

Dating is tedious, but sex is fun. So I keep trying, like an idiot (who ran out of batteries.)

I don't have time to get stood up. Nevermind. Technically I have all of the time in the world for that. I guess what I mean is that I am tired of getting excited for things that don't happen. So I'll drink my fucking rum and wallow in my self-pity the week before crimbo. Canceled on twice. Ouch.

It is worth noting that my journey to NYC was a successful and somewhat magical one. Somewhat lacking in the directionless wandering I was itching for, but when you're traveling with a family member your actions tend to be more conservative. Though I did get a bit toasty with my father at the bar before the concert.

Oh, the concert. I drank every moment of the thing with all of my senses. It was beautiful to be able to see the music that has come to mean so much to me brought to life. The scarcity of the tickets (combined with the fact that there were only 7 shows), the anticipation of the event, and the genuine love that everyone there had for the band they were going to see made for a wonderful energy. And then this band full of men played songs that were written before I was born as though they had never missed a day of practice. And even though the seats were shit, my father brought binoculars. This allowed me to see that RS was still wearing the glorious red lipstick.

Never say die! Never surrender! Vivre le spectaculaire!

There are very few things in the world that I would say are sources of absolute pleasure.

One of those things is drinking wine alone. I started doing it when I lived in my last apartment when I would be particularly upset. There's just something about getting drunk and only having yourself to confront that comes with a certain amount of clarity. Perhaps it started as a method of self-destruction, but now I see it in an almost holistic way. It allows me to assess all of the issues facing me in an unhurried way. Wine makes me feel poetic and warm, and though there's an inherent sadness to the act of drinking alone, it adds just the right amount of bitterness to the whole scenario.

There comes a time in your life when you have to be happy alone. I think I'm getting there. And I think I'm going to be here, alone. Making my own bad decisions and reaping the benefits. I'll look over the cliffs of insanity and take a deep breath.

I hope that there is so much more to life, and that I've just been unlucky in my encounters so far. Were it not so cold, I would go on a walk. I'm restless.