It's the most wonderful time of the year...

Ask any writer and he or she will tell you--the times you most need to write are the times you find it the hardest to do so. Such is the case with me right now.

I have had a lot on my mind as of late. Guess the holidays will do that to you...See, what has been deemed "the most wonderful time of the year" has, as I have gotten older, also become the most complicated.

Take, for example, Thanksgiving.

Thursday was Thanksgiving, and, up and until last year, that meant my day was pretty much set: the family and I would load up the car and head to grandma's for a day of forced consumption of foods I deemed "questionable" and the inevitable fight that ensues when you force a group of volatile people into the same dining room. (Oh yes. I've got stories. Some involving death threats. Some, lesbians. And still others with violence and sweet potatoes (they DO NOT taste like candy, MOM!))

It was broken.
But it was home. It was family. My family.

Lately, I have been missing my family.

It's not that they're not around...most of them I can pick up the phone and call for an awkward chat at any time. So I guess if I had to best explain, I would say I am missing the UNIT, as opposed to the individuals.

Though always broken, the unit changed irreparably three years ago, with the loss of my sister, Madison. Since that time, her absence has been a shadow at my back, a whisper in my hair, an uneasy knot in my stomach.

Last year, my grandma--my rock and my sole tie to my past in so many ways--joined her. Two essential cogs in the ERIN UNIT down...

The other cogs are in working order--in fact, in many ways they have rallied to pick up the slack for the missing pieces. My brother Josh has started his own family, as has my brother Ryan, who will be married next month. Justin and Cason are pursuing their undergraduate degrees, and the parents on both sides seem to have found a rhythm in which to settle.

Which pretty much leaves me.

What am I doing? Other than currently avoiding any semblance of adult responsibility by writing a blog that only I read?

Well, there's grad school. And I am teaching. And I am preparing to move. I'm in a show. By all accounts, I'm the busiest of busy bees.

I'm also...lost. And lonely.

I have a circle of friends, a dog who loves me, food in the cupboard (ever notice that no one says 'cupboard' anymore?), and my health. I even found a new church.

All blessings. And I am thankful...I just...

Christmas.

It'sa comin'.

And more rapidly than I am completely comfortable with. Soon there will be brightly colored paper strewn about the floor and too much food. The last remnants of a year now past.

Seems like yesterday I was toasting the onset of 2010, and now--365 whirwind days later--I am staring down 2011. And that frightens me. (He's a beast, that 2011. Pointy teeth and whatnot.)

It's not that I am dreading the big 3-0, (March 16, people. It's comin' up fast) it's more that I no longer have any idea what to expect from each day. Optimists would say that's what's so exciting about it--the promise of a New Year. New experiences. New people. New places. New lessons. To pessimists, well, it's just another year.

Me? I seem to fall somewhere in the middle.

You see, I want the positive, wonderful things...I just fear that maybe they are not coming. (This is one of the benefits of having a blog no one reads. You can exorcise all your personal nonsense without the burden of worrying that anyone will know about it. SCORE ONE FOR ME!)

The past few years have been, well, a painful purge of the life I built in my early to late 20s--my home, my career, my romantic and familial relationships--all trampled by the army of e'er onward marching time. And I have been forced to watch.

Do I know it has been good for me? That I have grown? That I am stronger (if more jaded) now than ever I have been before?

Eh. Maybe.

But I am still struggling with the issue of acceptance.
Lets just say I have a difficult time 'letting go.' (My name is Erin Greer, and I am an emotional hoarder. You can find me by the doughnut table...)

It's not that the things in my life were necessarily all that good; it's just that, whatever they were--good or bad--they were mine.

As such, and much like a gangrenous arm, I have difficulty letting them go, even if it is in my best interest for the long haul.

Acceptance.

Gotta hate it.

Or maybe I don't.

Maybe this year will be the year of promise.

Maybe this year will see me 'land on good soil' and produce 'a hundred times that which was planted.'

Maybe.

But before I go freakin' crazy with the optimism (Wait...she calls that 'freakin' crazy with optimism'...whoa...what is she? Emo or something? Maybe we should get her a scarf...a colorful scarf. I saw one at The Gap that was rainbow striped. You can't be pessimistic in a rainbow-striped scarf. It's unnatural.) I guess I should say this: the New Year only holds new promise if I have the guts to make necessary changes.

There. I've said it. It's out there.

I need the equivalent of a karmic spring cleaning. The dust under this rug is likely to choke me. But Lord willing and the creek don't rise, I hope to have the ovarian fortitude to 'woman up' and seize this life I've been given.

Which I guess means I should get out of jammies and into the shower. It IS noon for Pete's sake.

Freshened up, I'll likely force myself through some grad school work, fret about my impending move, wonder why I haven't any motivation or life direction, and take my dog for a walk.

Should you need me, I'll be the one by the doughnut table wearing the rainbow-striped scarf.

So I almost got arrested...

Yeah.
So I almost got arrested.

For attempting to take Christ home.
In a very literal sense.

So I was driving...and lo and behold! What do I see on the side of the road, but Christ! Or, at least, a sign supporting Him for State Senate...

Sure. Go ahead. Read that last sentence over a few times. I can wait.

Yep. Apparently our Lord and Savior HAS returned--and, upon His arrival, has decided that the Peach State alone, above all the world, NEEDS His help.

Spurred (likely by The Holy Ghost), I decide I am going to steal this sign and take it home. Because if Christ has given up knocking on the doors of hearts in favor of pleading for acceptance through the ballot box well--then He is the Son of God, and who am I to question? (What can I say? The Man's got my vote.)

So I begin with the covert ops. Stealthily, I have (a certain accomplice who will remain unnamed) pull up in front of the green and white sign, which is nestled amidst the signs of lesser opponents. I had hoped for a drive by, complete with tuck and roll 007 style, but "Accomplice" pulled to a complete stop.

Humph.

Undaunted, I leaped from the car, bounded to the sign, heaved it from the ground, and, when returning to the car with my Divine Prize--was stopped by the arrival of two police officers.

Neither looked happy.

Feverishly, I began to contemplate a plan to cover my sin... "Quick," I ask myself, "What would Jesus do?" My answer? "Come clean."

So, naturally, I did the opposite.

"Hello officer."

"What are you doing?"

"Oh. I just wanted to get a picture with this sign."

"Why?"

"Because it's funny."

"Why is it funny?"

"Because it says 'Christ for State Senate'."

"And WHY is that funny?"

Ok. Seriously. WHY is that funny? WHY is that funny? (Hold on, it gets better!)

"Because it says..."

"Look, ma'am, all we need is for some opponent of the candidate to see you stealing the sign, and then there'd be a suit. You might support his opponent."

And then I come up with the comedy coup de etat. Did I honestly say the following to an officer of the law who had caught me stealing? You're damned right I did...

"Oh, don't worry officer. I am not anti-Christ."

Ha!

Ha! Ha!

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

And this point I could not help but laugh. Literally laugh at my own cleverness in the face of jail time. And what does my truly rapier wit elicit from the officer?

Dead. Silence.
Nary a cricket to even help me out.

"Put the sign back."

"But sir..."

"Put the sign back."

"Well, can I at least get my picture with it first?"

"No."

Damn. It.

I walk back to the scene of the crime.
I replace the Evangelical sign foretelling of our impending salvation from record unemployment, out of control state spending, and abysmal test scores.
I stump back to the car.

"The sign fell down."

"Excuse me?"

"The sign fell down. Fix it."

Erin's mind: "FUCK NO!" Erin's mouth (which is none smarter than her mind): "You CAN'T be serious."

Again at this juncture you may be asking yourself: "Did Erin really just say that to a policeman who caught her stealing?"
Again I answer, "you're damned right I did."


Stump back to the sign. Pick up the sign. Deliberately push sign into the ground with disdain which completely oversteps the bounds of obnoxious. Glare at officer. Literally say out loud: "Better?" Stump back to the car. Slam door. Drive away.

I did not get arrested.

And they say Christ no longer performs miracles?
I say I was the first to receive one.

Christ for State Senate!