Fractured family tales. On Christmas Day. I don't know how to respond. I'm tense, my stomach is in knots, I just want to run away from the mess. I'm already 200 miles away from it and it isn't far enough. When the going gets tough, I always want to run far enough to avoid it. But I don't run. I stay. And think. And pray sometimes. And try to get everyone to just get along. And hope for the best, that everything will work out. I think about life, about how people live in the US right now, how emotional evolution seems to have devolved over the past 30 years or so. And I become very cynical and critical and disgusted. I retreat into my comfort zone (crocheting, TV or movies, FB, reading - anything to remove the reality and pain) until I feel more like myself. Or until someone contacts me. Whichever comes first. 


I really hate this year.