Christmas has come and gone, dearest readers, and I am left in the remnants of the holiday; the rich spices of the holiday candles linger in the apartment, the least tempting of the Christmas cookies sit in Tupperware on the counter in hopes of consumption, though the candidates up for the job are nearly sick on the copious sugar of the season. The mound of shredded wrapping paper has been cleared and thrown away, but the gifts received loiter about awkwardly like frightened children in a new school, waiting to be told where to go.

This Christmas was nice, if unfamiliar. Three days before Christmas Bryan and I sat in my car as I sobbed with Christmas blues; it didn’t feel like Christmas, and in the token ways, as I can now clarify in retrospect, it never did: Cincinnati lacked more than snow- the temperature was moderate and it felt like early autumn- and Bryan and I experienced some difficulty while trying to whip up the Christmas spirit. It wasn’t until sometime last week that we finally got the ornaments up, and we (well, I) furiously shopped for last minute baubles until the stores closed early Christmas Eve. I very much feared for the holiday before hand because this was the first year I felt frustrated with and hurried by Christmas; I had spent so much time worrying about my procrastination, and then had rushed through the horror of doing everything last-minute so hurriedly that I had done little to enjoy the season. I felt as if Christmas had pounced upon me without any of the delightful precursors. Once the shopping was finished, however, and the ornaments charmingly danced above the apartment we shacked up as the world around us shut down for a day. We baked delicious sugar cookies and mediocre gingerbread, watched and listened to Christmas programming, opened presents and sipped sapphire martinis. The house was warm and filled with the traditions that Bryan and I were beginning- such as our martinis, though I suspect that we’ll be drinking those quite often- and I am very happy with the Christmas I was lucky enough to enjoy.

Christmas has now passed, I’m afraid, and the world has resumed its unnerving pace. I returned to work last night, and five hours of the bistro’s stressful bustle was enough to make the entire season seem over and long gone. I made good money; I was stuck in a crappy three-table section that had endless problems, but due to the overwhelming volume of guests I still managed to walk with $72 (which couldn’t be more welcome at this point in time; Christmas has left me with $50 in my savings account and, well, nothing in my checking. A parking ticket has added additional stress to my financial strains- seriously, what type of heartless hard-ass gives a parking ticket a day after Christmas? There was no one downtown. WTF- and car insurance is due on the fourth). Making money is good, especially now, and I am ready to leave the joy and stress of the holiday behind and move on to 2007.

Perhaps lingering December excitement provides me with such content closure. Bryan received an unexpected bonus check a couple of days before Christmas, which allows us to execute the many decorating plans we’ve been stewing up for the apartment. Yesterday he ordered a corbu three-seater from Stendmar, a fantastic California company we were lucky to find, and we hope to have built a bookcase and a credenza by the time it is scheduled to arrive on the 12th. At that time we will have acquired the staples of the apartment, sans the hanging screens we plan to build, and we will begin the enjoyable, satisfying process of collecting the items that will complete the space: rugs, plants, vases, accent chairs, etc. The loft will be breathtaking. Due to our lack of funds we’ve had months upon months to devise and sketch, and now that we have the means to act upon half a year’s worth of brainstorming the space will be thought-out and well designed. We already have a couple of excellent items that will make the loft truly brilliant, and soon we will be that polished, fabulous couple that is normally restricted to supporting roles of idealized romantic comedies; we, the martini-sipping designers, with a WWII first aid tin to hold our pepto bismal and 1961 Gense salt shakers to pepper our meat, our Mac book sitting coyly in a clever, darling 1970s Air France flight bag, all found for dirt-cheap prices by our creative, brilliant frugality, and we’re in love to boot.

I return to university in six days. I am ready and excited; the success of last quarter has boosted my confidence in my ability to perform this quarter. I did my research before registering, picked easy teachers for my art history and English classes, and know exactly what to expect in my studio classes. I’m sure I’ll ace this quarter as I aced the last, and scholarships now feel within reach. The holidays are over but winter has just begun, yet soon, after the drudgery of January and February the sun will warm the city and beckon spring, and soon summer will follow, and I will look forward to the holidays once again.

Happy Holidays to all!

Cincinnati Union Terminal, built 1931

Behold the reason I haven't posted in months:

Student Name: Rachael Ashleigh Stefanussen
College: College of Design, Architecture, Art and Planning
Major: Industrial Design
Class: Sophomore
College Area Course Section Course Title Grade Credit

15 ENGL 102 006 ENGLISH COMP II A 3.00 12.0000
15 HIST 559 001 FASCISM IN EUROPE A 3.00 12.0000
23 FDST 101 009 FOUND STUDIO COLOR A 3.00 12.0000
23 FDST 121 009 FOUND DESIGN DRAW A- 3.00 11.0001
23 FDST 131 002 DIGITAL DES FUND A 1.00 4.0000

* * * DEAN'S LIST 3.923 * * *

Current Credit Hrs. Carried Credit Hrs. Earned Quality Points Quality Point Average Pass Hours Progress Hours Advanced Standing Total Hours
Quarter 13.00 13.00 51.0001 3.923 0.00 13.00
College 13.00 13.00 51.0001 3.923 0.00 13.00
University 13.00 13.00 51.0001 3.923 0.00 0.00 60.00 73.00

Perhaps this is why running away from one's problems is a solution recommended by very few; I am referring to what today's repetitive, monotonous media would term “a lack of closure”, a phrase so bromidic that I hesitate to use it, yet for the sake of concision I shall employ such lackluster tools. That is what this is, as are all our personal experiences: despite the importance this situation holds in my life, despite the emotions it commands, it is always, in retrospect and upon examination, summed up and narrowed down to the general, given to all to see, touch, and to make their own, despite its personal nature. The blade that soars down upon me is truly two-sided; I am always so offended and disillusioned to see the conventionality of the things so dear to my heart, yet the experience of such situations, and the consequent comprehension of the concepts that birth our society's cliches make me feel awfully distinguished and wise. At these times I feel as if I am now one of those “older” people, the people who forcibly drag you away from self-pity with sloppy “been there, done that” remarks that, through the apathy instilled in them, negates the very real, very painful dilemma of whatever it is one is suffering. Do these remarks reflect the pain of the past? Does one ever distance oneself enough to carelessly reminisce, or is there a sadness behind every “been there, done that” remark? Perhaps even the “been there, done that, and I did it before you did, so stop sobbing about it, bitches” remarks blush with a tint of misery that can only be quelled by feigned nonchalance. Either way, both facets of any given ordeal- both the defeated acknowledgment of the plebeian and the satisfaction one gleams from an understanding of the plebeian- are exasperating when one has yet to come to terms with what has happened or successfully resolve what has happened. There is no consolation prize, no red ribbon to applaud your failed endeavors, only a hazy question mark that rises from the dust of the rubble, insulting your intelligence, your efforts, and your fatally wounded pride.