Explorations in Metaphor: These Christmas Trees Are My NYE Resolutions

It is the third week of January in the New Year and I can’t even bother to pretend to keep my New Year’s Resolutions! Alack! Caught up in the rapturous thrill of shedding old habits like a skin– to be a different “you”! In truth, we all seek to be anything besides ourselves at a moment’s notice.

2018 promised a triumphant return to excellence! But, lo– it was not to be. Caught alight and turn to ash for 2016. Sculpted and hewed through the crucible of 2017. 2018 was to be OUR YEAR FOR CHANGE. Reality: you are a cruel mistress.  

Oh, irony: pinning hopes for a new “me” on a dying plant! Inevitable was the demise of those lofty, glittery resolutions, twinkling with the promise of a bright future. What once shone silvery with tinsel is now collected en-masse along-side the rest of humanity. Unceremoniously dumped upon the sidewalk.

Overburdened with lofty expectations and high hopes then promptly discarded! Left to dry out and wither in full view: shamed, naked. Stripped of trappings and sustenance. Folly! Am I never to escape the unending stream of life lessons? Or am I doomed to bear the brunt of a ceaseless stream– nay, a barrage– of mistakes?

In my heart, I know the answer. As certain as those ex-trees are decaying, I certainly know that I am forever ensconced in mistake, guilt, and failed resolutions. I am the tree. I am dead.

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I’M THE DUMPSTER FIRE YOU LEFT FOR TRUMP

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Hey. Hi. It’s me. Your former flame. Your ex dumpster fire. 

I know I said I could just leave things be
and get on with my life, but I’ve had some time to think about how everything
went down last November. It’s not going to be easy, but there’s something I’ve been needing to
say.

I know what I was. I know I wasn’t easy. I was out of
control sometimes. I know I ran hot and cold, and that couldn’t have been pleasant
or fun to watch as I went through my roller coaster pattern. But in all
honesty: I didn’t mean to hurt you. Not really. All I ever wanted was your
attention. All I ever needed was to be validated and approved of. Turns out, I
needed to validate and approve of myself. It wasn’t you.

And now, you’ve moved on. I know you have. I see how you are
now. These past 12 months have really shown how different things are. I can’t hope
to hold a candle to what consumes you and holds your interests. I know he’s bigger
than me, that he’s far more interesting and puts on a better show. Hell, every day is a fresh new fire, more unholy than the day before, and you just can’t look away. I know that.
And you know what? I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry it’s come to this.

It’s my fault. I played with fire and you got burned. And I knew, before I did, that
the minute I burned you you’d leave so fast my head would spin. And I was
right. How’s that for a self-fulfilling prophecy, huh? Jeez Louise. And now
look at the mess we’re all in. There’s so much distance between us, we might as
well be strangers. We don’t talk like we used to. I miss that. I miss you.

I know this will fall of deaf ears. Your life is so full
now, I don’t expect there will ever be a place for me in your life again. Not
like it was, and we can’t go back. I don’t blame you. Really. But I’m just so
goddamned sorry. I wasn’t my best. You never got the best of me, and that sucks.
It sucks for you because you got the worse deal, and of course you left. You weren’t getting your needs met. You had to leave me for you. You had to leave the memories which have just fizzled out
and have turned to ash. 

I know I wasn’t good enough for you. But I tried real hard.
And I think that’s where I went astray. I tried
and therein lies the rub. I shouldn’t have tried to be anything but me, with my
quaint idiosyncrasies, stubborn quirks, annoying habits, and disgusting faults.
Everything. I should have just been me. Take it or leave it. And, well. I guess
you made your choice. I made my bed and now, I must lay in it. And now, you have fresh fires every day, and you don’t want for excitement, abject horror, and incredulity you desperately crave to distract you from your own life.

I was wrong to think I could keep you around, but, you’re off to greener
pastures, and while I wish nothing but the best for you two, I do miss you.
Every day. Don’t think I don’t. Without you around, life seemingly has
little purpose. The light has gone out, and I sit alone wondering if
this is how it’s supposed to be, if this is how it’s going to be, forever. I
hope not.

I hope, with enough time, you’ll see just how special things
were. When it was just us two: intimate, close, happy. When this is all over in
2020, perhaps we can give it another go? Until then, I’ll be here. Waiting.
Hoping.

I’M THE DUMPSTER FIRE YOU LEFT FOR TRUMP

Hey. Hi. It’s me. Your former flame. Your ex dumpster fire.

I know I said I could just leave things be and get on with my life, but I’ve had some time to think about how everything went down last November. It’s not going to be easy, but there’s something I’ve been needing to say.

I know what I was. I know I wasn’t easy. I was out of control sometimes. I know I ran hot and cold, and that couldn’t have been pleasant or fun to watch as I went through my roller coaster pattern. But in all honesty: I didn’t mean to hurt you. Not really. All I ever wanted was your attention. All I ever needed was to be validated and approved of. Turns out, I needed to validate and approve of myself. It wasn’t you.

And now, you’ve moved on. I know you have. I see how you are now. These past 12 months have really shown how different things are. I can’t hope to hold a candle to what consumes you and holds your interests. I know he’s bigger than me, that he’s far more interesting and puts on a better show. Hell, every day is a fresh new fire, more unholy than the day before, and you just can’t look away. I know that. And you know what? I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry it’s come to this.

It’s my fault. I played with fire and you got burned. And I knew, before I did, that the minute I burned you you’d leave so fast my head would spin. And I was right. How’s that for a self-fulfilling prophecy, huh? Jeez Louise. And now look at the mess we’re all in. There’s so much distance between us, we might as well be strangers. We don’t talk like we used to. I miss that. I miss you.

I know this will fall of deaf ears. Your life is so full now, I don’t expect there will ever be a place for me in your life again. Not like it was, and we can’t go back. I don’t blame you. Really. But I’m just so goddamned sorry. I wasn’t my best. You never got the best of me, and that sucks. It sucks for you because you got the worse deal, and of course you left. You weren’t getting your needs met. You had to leave me for you. You had to leave the memories which have just fizzled out and have turned to ash.

I know I wasn’t good enough for you. But I tried real hard. And I think that’s where I went astray. I tried and therein lies the rub. I shouldn’t have tried to be anything but me, with my quaint idiosyncrasies, stubborn quirks, annoying habits, and disgusting faults. Everything. I should have just been me. Take it or leave it. And, well. I guess you made your choice. I made my bed and now, I must lay in it. And now, you have fresh fires every day, and you don’t want for excitement, abject horror, and incredulity you desperately crave to distract you from your own life.

I was wrong to think I could keep you around, but, you’re off to greener pastures, and while I wish nothing but the best for you two, I do miss you. Every day. Don’t think I don’t. Without you around, life seemingly has little purpose. The light has gone out, and I sit alone wondering if this is how it’s supposed to be, if this is how it’s going to be, forever. I hope not.

I hope, with enough time, you’ll see just how special things were. When it was just us two: intimate, close, happy. When this is all over in 2020, perhaps we can give it another go? Until then, I’ll be here. Waiting. Hoping.