draft I guess

          For Christmas my mother sent me a box containing, pajama pants, a bottle of vodka and a little over a dozen condoms.  I understood the vodka, but asked her why she sent me condoms seeing as how I'm in a relationship with my future husband; "well, since Wain got his vasectomy, we don't use them anymore and I want you to be safe," she siad.   "So you give me your leftover contraceptives, gross mom," I laughed into the phone.   I had already drank the vodka before calling her and I missed her more during that conversation that I can ever remember missing her. 
         I opened Jen's Christmas package next.  I did it slowly, tearing off the tape without pulling the wrapping paper off with it.  In a box was, the Barbra Striesand box set of a life time which sent me spurting into tears as dramatically as someone opening a letter stating that their son was killed in combat.  She also sent me a journal with which we have been sending back and fourth since.  The contents of this journal expose the trembling fear and emptiness we feel in the absence of each-other in brave times.  She moved to California and I moved to Chicago, both without each other's strength and being strong without her by my side is for some reason, the hardest thing I've ever done.
         I've been getting a lot of packages in the mail lately.  My mother sent me a box full of shit I had intentionally left in Kansas.  For instance, a few of the things I pulled out were, a ceramic dog, a sweater that hasn't fit me in 16 years and a few collection bills I tried to forget about.  Jen bought me the ceramic poodle on for my birthday last year.  I was always jealous of her ceramic bloodhound that propped our bathroom door open.  It was a jealousy that was never talked about but was known and I remember packing my things and holding the poodle for a few minutes knowing I couldn't take it with me but convincing myself I didn't really care about it anyway.  When I opened the package and held the poodle again I laughed thinking how stupid it was that my mom sent it to me.  I held it this morning and cried thinking of how happy I was that it was my new bedside companion. 
          Last night I opened yet another package from Jen, the return address was from California.  A postcard housed her words, a necklace housed her love and a plastic container housed holy dirt from a church in Taos.  The dirt is said to heal wounds and cure illness, so I placed it on my heart. 
          The new year has come and gone.  Last new years Jen and I decided we would get smashed at the most trashy gay bar we could find.  She got banged by a straight girl in the bar bathroom, kissed me at midnight and I went home with a rich man.  It was one of the greatest new years I'd ever had.  This year I was with Kevin on a roof top full of people counting down to fireworks and I got my first fireworks kiss.