Yuletide spirit

I always think of Christmas as being either really damned fantastic or really damned unbearable. Sometimes, Leonard gets all miffed about me saying "Well, why should I get you a present?! It's not YOUR HOLIDAY." But then other times he asks me what I want and I say "Leonard, all I want is a Room of My Own!" and then he laughs because I'm funny, and it is a perfect Christmas.

This year they're doing a Christmas Pageant at the local church. Nessa is in charge of the costume and scenery, so she roped me into playing Mary. Or should I say the VirginIA Mary! I was excited about it until rehearsal this evening, with the annunciation:

Gabriel: Mary, fear not, for the Lord has chosen you to bear his only son.
Me: And then what?
Gabriel: What?
Mary: Well, I want to be a carpenter. My betrothed is a carpenter, but I'm actually much better at it than he is, I just don't have the freedom to set up shop by myself
or the money to take care of myself, so I'm marrying him in order to practice my art, even though I won't reap the benefits of it. So, if I bear the Lord's child, can I also gain independence and freedom for myself as a woman?
Gabriel: Virginia...do we have to go through with this now?
Mary: The real question, sir, is why did we not go through this 1900-some-odd years ago?

So I'm not playing Mary anymore, which is just as fine with me. Actually, I'm very upset about it. Leonard somehow got cast as one of the three wise men, alongside Duncan and Lytton. Nessa says that she'll see if I can get back in the show, on the condition that I avoid being too "shamelessly modern". And to apologize for yelling at the priest for his "stupid cloth thing" and his "processional enslavement".

I might be missing the spirit of the holidays. It's just that Saint Nicolas hasn't returned my letter this year, which he usually does promptly (though his handwriting looks strangely familiar and Jewish). Here's what he wrote me last year:

Dear Virginia,

Thank you for your letter, as always. I liked the pun about wanting a "room of your own", since it was based on your essay that was quite wonderful. Of course, you know that I can't get you a whole room for Christmas, how ever would it fit on my sleigh! Haha! Hoho! Also, I appreciate your question about my elves pertaining to their "intelligence level", and I am happy to say that they are all quite adept, free-thinking scholars, and should not be, as you said, "shot", just because they're a little smaller than we people. And I am sure that your servants are not as "insufferably niëve and stubborn" as you said.

But on to lighter, happier subjects! This year for Christmas you asked for a shiny red bicycle, so I can guarantee that will find a spot under your tree. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't think of anything to "catch that damned monkey-thing on Leonard's shoulder", because you know well that Mitz is a good, sweet, cute marmoset who would never hurt a fly. Yes?

Well my dear Virginia, I must be off to tend the reindeer. Remember, of course, that everything will turn out well, that everyone loves you very much, and that you are a very gifted woman. Please don't kill yourself.

Yours,
Leon Santa Claus

Thoughts of Writing on a Typey-thing

What is this? I couldn't possibly guess. I was never that spectacular at typing anyway, but something tells me that this "screen" will someday remove the press, which will just give L. no reason to live anymore.

Ha, I can say it!! Stupid L! You and your stupid marmoset aren't creeping over my shoulder every few minutes. "Oh, Virginia, what are you writing?" "Oh, Virginia, don't be soooo saaaad", "Oh, Virginia, are you on your cycles again? You seem to be down in the dumps."

Well you know what, L? I'm NOT on my cycles and I feel FINE. Today I went to the store and some baby was crying and I wanted to get really close to it and act all cooing and stuff so that it would stop crying , then I would reach up and grab a melon and SPLAT. I would hit the stupid thing on the head with a melon!! Not that I don't love kids, really, but the crying ones...was there something wrong with the parents? There must have been. I'm sure I never cried when I was a baby. One day I asked Nessa, while I was standing on the edge of the roof hoping to either end it all or turn into a pretty little bird, I said, "Nessa, I'll do it, watch me!" And she put her arms akimbo and said "Please don't, Virginia. I love you, you know that." And I said "Love me? Do you? Love me? I bet you didn't Love me when I was a BABY, I bet I cried so much you wanted to splat me with something." And she said "No, you didn't cry as a baby, you were perfectly quiet. Now come have tea." So I got down off the tool shed and ate some crumpets. The tea was bitter. I DETEST oolong.