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Miranda POV 

I threw my thick down winter coat onto the chair and flopped face down onto my bed.  I didn't even bother to take my boots off, which will be to my demise later when I have to walk through the wetness of the melted snow on my carpet, but I just couldn't deal with the world for even one more minute.  Of course, I’m never truly alone and my dog jumps up behind me to prove my point.  She is eager to see me after a long day at work and starts to lick my neck and face with her coarse, wet tongue, and as gross as it actually is, I still find it comforting.  It's not her fault I'm in such a crabby mood, and all she wants is to be let outside for a good run and to empty her bladder. It only takes about two more minutes of licking (and whining) before I can't stand the guilt, so I get up and take her outside, not bothering to put my coat back on this time. 

The wind is absolutely freezing and you’d think I’d expect the sudden chill to my core, afterall, I do live in Alaska; but, it never seems to amaze me how cold the world can actually get.  Huh. I guess that's true in more ways than just weather. We’ve gotten at least two feet of snow over the last week and while even a quarter of this amount of snow would shut down any other city in the nation, we are not so fortunate. It literally takes an act of God for any business or school to call a ‘snow day’ and trust me, we have plenty of acts of God to choose from.  Just last year, we had to experience category 4 hurricane strength winds, before the stores finally figured it might be worth it to board up the windows and call it a day.  The year before that, a major earthquake destroyed the highways and sinkholes buried houses around Wasilla, the suburb where I live. 

A big black tail repeatedly smacks the back of legs.  “Hey Beebs, did you miss me?  Only one more day until the weekend.”  Great, now I’m talking to a dog. Well, if you saw her you wouldn't blame me.  Black lab mixed with some husky made the perfect combination for a loyal, smart, stubborn and super-cute best friend.   

As I walk back in the house, I hear a familiar ring tone blaring from my phone.  Amanda.  She set her ringtone to the tune of Queen’s “We are the Champions” after our last game night at her brothers house, where we whooped everyone in both scattergories and charades. “Hey girl. What's up?” 

Amanda’s been my bestie for about six years now. We met at a managerial training conference in Anchorage (a long, boring conference).  During the afternoon training session, I saw Amanda hiding in the convention hall lounge, sipping on a whiskey sour. Her eyes grew wide when she recognized I was also from the conference, until she realized I, too, was hiding in the lounge.  Ten whiskey sours later, we declared our bestie status and it hasn’t faltered since. We’re probably more opposites than any other set of besties but I know she always has my back no matter what, and that is my definition of friendship. 

“Just making sure you're not going to bail on us tomorrow night.”  Shoot! I totally forgot I’m suppose to meet her and a few of the other girls from our art class for a wine and paint night. I hate those things-everyone painting the same damn thing,  Why on earth would I want the same exact painting as everyone in my class. It’s not like I even want a painting of a dolphin hanging in my living room.  Quick! Think of an excuse…”Umm….” 

“Don’t start with that, Miranda. You’ve dipped out the last two months and you promised me this time!  I cant sit alone while those snooty bitches talk about their latest manicure and cleaning hacks.  If I hear one more ‘just add baking soda’ I think I’ll punch one of them in the nose.  And, seriously, I dont know whats going on with you but you do this every Christmas.  You need to snap out of it. Maybe after painting, we can check out the club and get you some dick.  Maybe a couple of knocks into a headboard will clear that overactive brain of yours,” she laughs. Leave it to Amanda to pitch random sex with a stranger as a solution to my mood.  But then again, that is her solution for nearly everything. 

“Easy for you to say.”  I tell her.  Amanda never fails to get male attention when we go out together with her long legs and bleach blond hair. While, I’ve got more of the girl next door look going on, Amanda looks more like she’s stepped out of a fashion magazine.  Her hair is always perfectly curled, while my chestnut locks are usually pulled up on top of my head into a messy bun. While she’s thin and stands five foot nine, I’m much shorter at five foot five with a more athletic build-my legs can only be described as thick and muscular.  I figure that’s due to summers filled with hiking and well, anything else I can do outdoors.  In the summer.  Can I emphasize that? Summer! I’ll pass on the blizzard currently happening in my yard. 

……….

The wine and paint night is over and I successfully avoided going to the club with Amanda.  It wasn’t so bad, after all, and I’m happy to report we didn't have to paint a dolphin.  It was a pumpkin.  Which is a hell of a lot better, but still a room full of pumpkins that pretty much all look the same is not exactly what I’m going for when I think of art. Or when I think of living room decor.  I guess the class instructors were going with the fall theme since next week is Thanksgiving.  

Since I was surrounded by pumpkins all night, it reminded me to call my mother to see what our plans are for the holidays this year.  Personally, if I could skip them all together I would.  The materialism of the holidays has done nothing but increasingly depress me over the last several years. Every year it gets worse and worse.  I guess it's fine for the Santa Claus’ in our community, the ones who thrive on giving once a year so they can brag to their friends about their generosity.  I mean, at least they're giving back, even if it's once a year.  For the financially oppressed, like the families I used to work with, the holidays are nothing but a shame and guilt riddled hellscape that causes depression.  The more closely I look at it, the more I can see that it's nothing but an intentional societal failing.  Damn! I’m more of a grinch than I thought I was. 

“Hey, mama. I was just calling to see about the holiday plans,” I inquire. 

“Oh, Miranda! I was wondering when you’d call. Your brother said you're in your usual holiday funk.” 

“I’m just choosing to ignore the social programming.” 

“Okay, if that’s what you say.  Should I assume you don't want any pies then?” 

“Umm. No, I definitely want the pies.” My mom makes the best pies. Everything from scratch.  Blueberry is my favorite as she uses blueberries I pick near Denali National Park each year.  It may take two hours and a strained back to get a single gallon of berries, but they are always worth the hassle.  

“That’s what I thought.” Why is it that talking to my mother always makes me feel better, even when we are only talking about pies and dinner dates. I guess that is what mothers do, provide us with a safe feeling even when we don't know what we are fearing. 

Laying on my bed, the fluffy, white comforter covering my bare legs, I scroll through social media.  I rarely take time out of my day to look on these sites, however, tonight I feel like I am deserving of a mindless treat and begin with watching the latest dance trends and lip syncs.  I move on to snooping through the pictures of past friends and see who has succumbed to the rapid ingestion of consumerism.  Once I am satisfied and have convinced myself that there is no hope for humankind, I go to close the app,  but pause when I see something that catches my eye, a post from a girl I haven't seen in years. 

“Human connection is the gift.  Can anyone take a few moments this Christmas to remind my cousin in prison he is not forgotten.”  Intrigued, I click the link….