Winter Break Blues: I Didn’t Find God
Article and Photo by Tara Mullaney
Only rivaling 2020 Quarantine, this year’s winter break was the least productive period of my entire life. I didn’t even have the excuse of a deadly disease this time! I just sat on my ass for nearly a month wallowing in my own self-doubt. Am I even supposed to be here? How the hell am I supposed to get a real job in four months? In film no less?! Give me an actual break.
After finals, I went back home to the Garden State. No, stop, I can hear you groaning from here. “New Jersey isn’t that bad,” I proclaim as I tailgate the ever-living shit out of you. Going way, way over the speed limit. I’m practically inside your car at this rate. Are those rotting Dunkin bags on your floor, or are you just happy to see me?
Speaking of Dunkin Donuts, that godforsaken Drive-Thru was my second home. The drinks? Abysmal. The line? Longer than the goddamn GSU Starbucks queue. But that non-binary barista? Like a parent to me. “Do you want a straw?” “Sorry, we’re out of maple bacon.” “Is lemonade okay?” They were on the verge of walking me down the aisle to hand me off to my oh, so-patient, lover standing at the altar. We’ve been through so much together in the three weeks I was home. Found family is family too.
I went to Dunkin, unknowingly converted my ex-girlfriend to Lutheranism, saw Sonic the Hedgehog 3 for the second time, and–wait what?
Oh, so Sonic, right? That really fast, blue hedgehog that I, quote, “really like for some reason,” had a new movie come out in Decem–that’s not what you meant. Right. Right, right, right.
Sigh.
After an unfortunate bout of unwanted eye contact, I felt an intrinsic need to snoop into said person's personal life. Thanks to some black magic I learned overseas, I animorphed into that fuckass dog from the Peanuts. Bring me my red roof, peasant! And my phone along with it! I must uncover the truth and that truth I shall find.
She saw me on the street one time and thought, “I need to get all up in that Martin Luther guy. The resemblance to the biggest fumble of my life is uncanny,” and proceeded to make a fool of herself on Facebook Marketplace.
“Repent!” Jesus cried. Looking down from the heavens. This is an intervention, a divine one at that. He’s begging her to spend less time posting gym thirst traps and more time, as Kesha would say, “Falling on your knees, prayin’.” At least, that’s what I think he said on our Zoom call last week. My memory’s a bit fuzzy from all the PTSD she gave me.
No, wait, hang on. That was my therapist, the invoice just came in. $10?! Phew! I should’ve guessed. It’s been the same every single week for the last four years.
That reminds me. I meant to look this up earlier…Oh, how cool! I’ve spent over $2,000 on mental health care this past year! I could’ve bought 1/3rd of a Dining Plan for that kind of money.
This is a super convoluted way of saying that I started thinking about myself and God. God and me, like Marley and Me, but I’m the dog. That animorphing shit really works.
Does he really know everything? Does he truly know what my songs did in the dark? Fuck if I know. After like, an hour, I opened Archive of Our Own to read about fictional men kissing sloppy style. Yaoi, if you will.
What else is a girl to do? Either I sit in my room and ruminate on how I’m going to die or live vicariously through red and blue-coded gay men. And they’re just really, really getting it on. My God, you see this shit, Applejack?
Maybe I should’ve found God with all the time I had. Instead of AO3, I should’ve cracked open ol’ reliable. The Ol’ Reliable Bible. I do have one, but it’s buried under over a dozen Mary Kate and Ashley VHS tapes. It’s the one my mother graciously gave me at the beginning of my miserable life. Perhaps she was onto something.
You know what? I’ll give it a try. Let’s check the word count and start the Spring semester off right.
783,137 words.
I can’t be reading that correctly.
783,137 words.
Yeeeeaaaaah, I’m just gonna mark that one for later. I’ll figure out religion eventually. For sure.