My gift to the world

So here we are at the end of yet another of my long weekends.
I didn’t really accomplish much in the past four days, but that’s not terribly surprising.
After being mostly satisfied with the picture I completed on Tuesday I’ve been pretty much incapable of producing another image that I like even a little.
That’s usually what happens, though; when I finish one really good picture my talent takes a while to recharge.
Two more days and this whole Christmas thing will be over. Then I just have to get through New Year’s and Valentine’s Day and I’ll no longer be bombarded by constant reminders of the fact that I don’t have anyone special in my life to spend the holidays, or really, any time with.
What makes the period that stretches from Thanksgiving to VD (I just find it funny that “Valentine’s Day” and “Venereal Disease” have the same initials, at least as long as you leave out the "Saint" part. Hmm...I'm sure there must be some kind of metaphor in that somewhere...) especially irritating is the fact that one of the things I miss most about being in a relationship is having someone to do things for.
Sometimes I miss that almost as much as having someone to do things to.
In any case, I really did enjoy being able to engage in spontaneous (and sometimes not so spontaneous, like during holidays) gestures of affection through gift-giving.
Of course, that’s more of an assumption on my part. I think I would enjoy demonstrating affection through gift-giving, but when I was married we were invariably strapped for cash, so generally I had to engage in spontaneous gestures of affection through, well, gestures.
Nice, cheap gestures.
I would do things like leave notes, or sweet little messages on the answering machine for her, and that sort of thing. I suppose that more gift-giving took place during the dating period, though I guess that’s fairly typical.
Still, while we were married I did enjoy going Christmas shopping for her.
I suppose that it’s the fact that I no longer have that particular activity to look for each year that soured me on the whole Christmas thing. After all, I honestly did find it better to give than to receive, so when I don’t have anyone special to give to, who cares?
I’m not sure what it was, precisely, about going Christmas shopping that I enjoyed, since for the most part we couldn’t really afford to buy the things that we did, and since it’s supposed to be the thought that counts, evidently my thoughts sucked, as she very seldom liked anything that I gave her for Christmas.
She never came out and said that she didn’t like the things I gave her, but she really didn’t have to, as her behavior said it all. If I bough her jewelry, she would either break it or lose it. If I bought her clothes she would either exchange them for something else or simply bury them in the back of the closet never to see the light of day.
I don’t think I had horrible taste or anything. It’s not like I was buying her really trashy or obnoxious clothes, and I’d like to think that living with her day in and day out for a few years gave me some kind of insight into the sort of things she liked, and that I some valid ideas about what might look good on her.
So I’ve never really been sure why she almost never liked anything I bought for her.
Whatever the case, she always had some excuse for not wearing the clothes I bought her. The most common were “They’re too nice to wear as everyday clothes” or “It’s cute, but I wouldn’t look good in it.”
That second excuse in particular especially annoyed me one year when I bought her this really cute little black pleated skirt. I remember my eyes being drawn to it in the store, as in my mind’s eye I pictured it on her, and I liked what I saw. I thought it had a subdued sexiness to it, and while it was sort of dressy, it was equally suited to everyday wear.
As she rang it up, I remember that the salesgirl even commented on how cute it was, and she expressed her belief that my wife would “love it.”
I think that out of all of the gifts that I’d bought that year I was most excited to see her open that one, and I really wanted to see her wear it.
She wouldn’t even try it on.
No matter how much I tried to persuade her to try it on even once just so I could see her in it, she refused, and steadfastly insisted that she simply would not look good in it.
In fairness, both to her and to myself, she didn’t hate everything that I bought her, as there were some things that she wore pretty regularly, and stuffed animals were usually a safe bet as far as things to buy her went, but in general, if it came from me, it would go unworn, unloved, and ignored.
The point of this is that despite year after year of failed attempts at buying the perfect gifts I remained undaunted. Even though I knew my gift selections would go over like a lead balloon, I still liked buying them for her.
The last time I thought, mistakenly of course, that I was actually starting to have a relationship with someone I remember that one of the things I found most exciting about the prospect of romance was that I would finally have someone to buy things for. In fact, while the “relationship” was extremely short-lived, I did actually buy her a couple of things.
Honestly, though, it’s not really about the buying or even the gift, but the feeling behind it. I miss having someone to care about enough to take the time to look for the perfect gift (even if I completley fail to find it), or who would spring to mind on some random occasion when I spot something in a display and think, “Oh, _____ would love that.”
This morning I actually woke from a dream in which I was out doing some last-minute shopping in search of the perfect gift for…someone.
Someone who doesn’t exist outside of my dreams, obviously, though clearly it demonstrates that this gift-giving urge is pretty deeply-seated in my consciousness.
These days, of course, I don’t really bother shopping at all. As I’ve mentioned before I just send money to my sister for her to distribute how she sees fit, whether as cash or in the form of gifts (which she would have to buy).
I did buy actual presents for my brother and for my mom and dad, though, but I did that online, which actually makes it sort of impersonal.
Of course, another disadvantage of flying solo is that I don’t receive much in the way of really cool gifts.
Mostly I get gift cards. My sister Kristy invariably gives me an actual present, but beyond that I don’t get much (Though Scott and Stacy gave me an “Ove Glove,” or at least a reasonable facsimile thereof, and a refrigerator magnet featuring Stewie from “Family Guy”).
Honestly, I haven’t had a really good Christmas haul since my last Christmas as a married man, which was ten years ago.
Strangely enough, that last Christmas together was the one year I managed to buy her something she really liked (a leather coat).
The last couple of years my years my mom has just given me money.
Last year I actually used most of the money she gave me to buy a present for someone else, as Christmas came during yet another failed attempt at initiating a relationship, which naturally got the gift-giving itch to flare up.
So I was surprised, especially since I had already bought the pots and pans that the money she was going to give me was supposed to be for, when I found that my mom had sent me a gift card in the amount of what I spent on the pots and pans rather than a check.
In any case, on the topic of my inner Santa, I suppose the obvious question would be why I don’t just transfer the gift-giving urge that's lurking deep inside of me onto my friends and family, as that way I could get at least some kind of gratification as I scratch that itch.
Meh.
I just don’t work that way.
Not consciously, at least. I’m usually not big on the whole transference thing (my reallocation of DLM enthusiasm to “Sin City” notwithstanding).
If I’m prevented from doing something I don’t typically seek out some substitute for it; I just stop doing it.
After I quit smoking I started walking a lot, but that was more a matter of dealing with the excess nervous energy I had. Once that leveled off I stopped walking, so now I don’t have anything that takes the place of smoking.
As for the cooking thing, which was also concurrent with my quitting smoking, it isn’t really a substitute for smoking either, as I don’t do it every day, and it has more to do with wanting to save money and add a little variety (and control over ingredients) to my diet.
(As an aside, my newly-discovered talent for cooking only adds to my overall annoyance about the gift-giving thing, as a romantic, home-cooked meal is yet another gesture of affection that I could make - if I had anyone I could have over for a romantic, home-cooked meal.)
So, typically what I do whenever I’m prevented from doing something is simply stop doing it…and complain about not being able to do it.
Other people find outlets for frustrated urges through things like volunteerism or spending time with their families and friends.
I complain.
I mean, I can’t really do volunteer work.
It’s not that I don’t care, or am opposed to helping people…but I just don’t like people.
(I know; that hardly comes as a surprise.)
Though I may often say otherwise (mostly in jest), I don’t honestly wish any particular harm on anyone, and I’m sure there are many ways that I could contribute to making the world a better place, but in general I find it best if I stay away from people as much as possible.
So I can’t imagine myself actually going out to help them, especially since it would undoubtedly involve being part of a group of people. Yuck.
And all of the members of my family are very far away, so while it’s not impossible, it is at least difficult to get overly involved in their lives, and as we should all know by now, if it’s difficult, the odds are that I’m not going to do it.
Out here in VA the only friends I have are the people I work with, and I spend plenty of time with them already. I don’t think I need to aggressively pursue spending even more time with them, nor do I think they’d really want me to.
Any other friends I have are as far away as my family (for the most part), and as I mentioned in a previous post, there really isn’t anything for us to do if we were able to spend more time together anyway.
Of course, if I weren’t the cold-hearted, animal-hating, nihilistic, mean, doo-doo-headed bastard that I am I could try to satisfy my frustrated impulses with the help of some unsuspecting, defenseless pet.
Yep, I could go full-on psycho, indulging my gift-giving urges, and maybe even manifesting whatever latent paternal instincts I may have lurking deep inside me, with the help of, say, a poodle.
A poodle that I would call Miss Pretty Penny Poodle, and who I could dress up in cute little sweaters and, naturally, poodle skirts, and I could buy her little presents and take her shopping with me, and I could bring her to dog park so that she could find herself a suitor, and one day I could walk Miss Pretty Penny Poodle down the aisle at her doggy wedding, and one day Mrs. Pretty Penny Schnauzer (née Poodle) would bring me many litters of grandchildren whom I could shower with affection and little doggy sweaters and flea collars and chew toys and…
Fortunately, both for myself and for any poor animal that might suffer needlessly, I am a cold-hearted, animal-hating, nihilistic, mean, doo-doo-headed bastard, so nothing like that is ever likely to happen.
No, it’s much more likely that I would become some sort of Christmas-themed serial killer (“The St. Nick Killer,” for example, who makes no distinction between “naughty” or “nice” when selecting his victims, and who you really don’t want to leave gifts under your tree or in your stockings.), but something like that would be difficult, and we know how I feel about things that are difficult.
(Besides, as I said, I don’t really wish any sort of specific harm on anyone. I really don't. Honest!)
So what’s even more likely is that I will continue to complain, using this as my forum.
And honestly, I think it’s the best gift I can give anyone.
After all, if you read my ravings here you’re bound to get at least the occasional chuckle, or maybe find something to think about, or see a picture that you really enjoy, or at the very least find that you've managed to kill a fair amount of time.
And most importantly, after your get through reading my musings and the tales of my misadventures you can always lean back in your chair and say, “Thank God I’m not him.”
And if that isn’t a gift, I don’t know what is.
So Merry Christmas, Threshold readers!
And you’re welcome.