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I like analogies. If you’re good at them [and so few people are] chances are I’ll like you. the Mistress is pretty good at them, one of the many reasons that I enjoy her ever-increasing company. Sadly, many people really suck at them, I mean … wait, what was the original point of this post?

Oh, yeah! Christmas! The other day I was talking to her about how I really don’t like Christmas anymore. The holiday itself. I enjoy Christmas music, buying and wrapping presents, decorating and baking, but when it comes to the day itself I am inevitably disappointed. I can’t help it. Whether it’s the family yelling at each other like common inmates (though, I earnestly believe inmates may be better behaved than the Mykal Bloom family) or not talking to each other and gossiping acidly behind each others’ backs, holidays aren’t usually a happy time. Which makes me think, how many of those fondly-regarded Christmases of my youth actually sucked monkey balls, and I just didn’t know it? How many brutal family arguments did I miss because I was so engrossed in my Power Rangers action figures? (Rita <33).

So, now that I’m older, I’ve just come to not anticipate Christmas. Of course I buy presents. Jesus knows I’m always prowling for any excuse to recklessly throw cash away. And yes, I blare my Mariah Carey “Merry Christmas” album, and I absolutely lurve to bake Christmas cookies, but Christmas just isn’t . . . exciting anymore. Perhaps it’s just another depressing reality of getting older, but in all honesty, I’d rather have the music and cookies and skip the holiday itself.

And when explaining all of this to the dear mistress, she retorted curtly, “Dude, you like Christmas. That’s like saying, ‘Oh, I like to suck dick, and I like it up the ass, but I’m not gay.’ No, fuck that, you like Christmas”

If only that were the case.

The Mistress says I’m on my man period. I guess I can’t fault her for accusing me. I have been on edge for the past . . . year. But it’s been particularly worse these past three weeks. See, there’s the Evil One. We dated for seven weeks, and since then he’s made my life nothing but a bleak and dreary place of anguish. Look at me trying to be all English Major about it. Anyway, point is the Evil One has this incredible knack for calling me and ruining my life. Take Halloween weekend. He calls to tell me that he’s moving in with some guy named Pedro.

Wait a minute.

Wasn’t he just telling me the week before that things weren’t exactly over? Or when he called just this past weekend to tell me that moving in with Perdo probably wasn’t a good idea. Why am I his go to person? Why do I have to be the one that he calls for life advice.

Is that fair? He said some of the most hurtful things anyone ever has. That’s why he’s called the Evil One. And I hate him for it. My mom always said hate was powerful word, and to use it sparingly, but I think it applies. He’s made me doubt who I am, and how I fit into the world. I get it, I fell for the Boy, my heart went elsewhere. That’s fine. I accept my part in our breakup, but I think ‘shameless whore’ took it one level too far, don’t you think?

So, yeah I guess I am on my man period.

I’m blessed that my life is populated with such wonderful characters. But damned be the Evil One.