Getting over it.

Ok. Ok. Apparently my last blog entry was "depressing" to some readers. Lo siento mucho. That was the point, I guess. However, as I have a bipolar tendency, my depression was not lengthy and drawn out like the Raymond Chandlers and Nathaniel Hawthornes of the world, nor was it inappropriately short like the Sylvia Plaths. Mine is generally just right.

Once, a friend read my "star chart," one of those astrological things that identifies all of your personal quirks and predilictions just by tracing the exact hour, date, latitude, and longitude of your birth. Apparently, I am perfectly balanced. It may not always seem that way, but the stars never lie. I further believe that my perfect balance seems strange to other, less-balanced souls, who spend more time attempting to be at one extreme or the other.

I don't want to be always happy. It's kind of dull. Feeling sad and alone at times is good for a person. It requires that she looks inward as well as outward, that she prays, that she reads self-help books or inspirational poetry, that she sits for hours examining her life, determining where she went wrong so that she won't go there again. I do like to be happy, though. Don't get me wrong. Let me tell you about my very un-lonely, un-unhappy Christmas.

On Christmas Eve morning, Fain and I went to church and Sunday school and had lunch with friends, which inspired my sense of well-being and belonging. Just that time with caring friends, laughing and talking and enjoying being together.

In the evening, my mom, dad, son, and I went to my dad's mom's house, a tradition just re-instated last year. It excited me all over again to see the awkward, aching attempts of family so long severed, hugging and trying to find something to talk about. I'll be honest; the food wasn't all that I'd hoped for, but the feeling was just what I wanted.

I stayed up late on Christmas Eve, trying to put together toddler toys, decorating, eating Santa's cookies and even finishing off his milk.

On Christmas morning, I was the hostess in my new little cottage. It was wonderful! I had a red and green spread of pre-packaged cinnamon rolls, pigs-in-blankets, and doughnuts, along with coffee and the fixings for mimosas. Bing Crosby crooned in the background.

Fain woke, whimpering and rubbing his eyes until I told him that Santa had dropped off a bag of toys. The excitement crept over him with the dawning comprehension of new material gain. (Quite the consumer already.)He sidled into the living room, which was lit only by the multi-colored lights on the tree. He stopped, cuddly and warm in his vellour red jammies (with footies, of course), and took in the sight, turned to me and said, "Oh my goodness gracious." Did I mention that he's the cutest kid in the world?

While he played, family and friends came and left, eating breakfast, helping Fain make the most of his Diego Rescue Center and drum set, talking, more hugging, toasting. It was like a dream for me. I always wanted to have something like that to offer to people, that feeling of belonging, of warmth, of communion.

After everyone left, it was time to go to my mom's mom's house for Christmas lunch, and the food there was everything that I'd hoped for and more. More family time. Photos. Hugs. Laughter. Just the way that it should be.

That night, after a long nap, Fain and I went to my mom and dad's house to open still more gifts and spend still more time with loved ones.

Even if I had an inclination to feel lonely and sad, I wouldn't have had the time. Which may be the key to my balance. As I told my doctor when he asked if I might have problems with depression, "I don't think that I really have time for it."