Narcissit? Who me?

Monday, December 13, 2010

The Narcissist's Twelve Days of Christmas

A plan has formed in my tiny brain that could possibly have life altering repercussions. As stated in my previous entry, I am feeling pretty down, and I wished to become a character from the terrible made-for-TV movies I watch every Christmas. Then, a lightbulb went off, and an idea popped into my head: What if I lived my life like it was a terrible made-for-TV movie?

Today is December the 13th, which means there are 12 days till Christmas. The beginning of every holiday movie. A pleading wish to an unknown magical force, the timeline, and a down on his luck protagonist (that's me!) It practically reeks of sentimental, sticky-sweet, holiday special. Except I am not Melissa Joan Hart (or Gilbert) and the snow here is real. As the days unfold, so does the story, and the changes begin.

It's The Narcissist's Twelve Days of Christmas!

I have 12 more entries to write before the year is up, and I have 12 days to document my life on this blog. (You'll notice on the count that I only need 11 entries to reach my goal of 100 posts, but I did delete one post's content and not the title. So -HUZZAH! I'll have 101 post on my counter, and 100 actual posts)

To begin I mapped out the progression of the typical Christmasy story, and each day I'll start with a heading, an element often found in TV holiday spectaculars, and I'll relate that to what happened with my day. My life may not be actually transformed, but using the writerly(?) talents I claim to possess, I will use my artistic license to figuratively transform the actual events of my life to fit that of every lame, terrible, yet undeniable guilty-pleasure-filled second Lifetime has produced staring a faded sitcom star dealing with the Holidays.

But first, I'll lay some ground rules. This is The Narcissist's Christmas. Therefore I am not a Scrooge. Scrooge only cared about himself. I just happen to think that everything revolves around me. I will not be visited by three ghosts, nor befriend a sick child that teaches me the true meaning of Christmas. Secondly, I will not become Santa Claus, nor travel to the North Pole. The weather in central Saskatchewan is cold enough for me, and red is just not my colour. My story will most likely take place around my city, and my family's country home, and in the reality and year in which I am currently occupying. The Christmas magic I am soliciting for the sake of my story will be the kind that makes my life better, teaches bullies a lesson, and makes it snow at the most opportune moments.

Day 1: The Beginning

Last night, as I was falling asleep I quietly whispered a prayer. (To the Universe not Santa Claus. But for the sake of the story let's say that a Christmas Angel was listening) I asked repeatedly to "Fix my life. Fix my life. Fix my life..."

Today, I awoke in my bed as the quintessential central character at the beginning of a Christmas movie. I was unhappy and disappointed. Last night, I had made a wish, and I expected to wake up with it having come true. I was expecting to be living in a mansion, waited on my servants! Not in the same room as when I fell asleep!

"So much for wishes!" I said to myself as I lazily rolled out of bed, and got ready for my day. Little did I know what was to come.

I am supposed to be working on this very important presentation for work (a vague reference commonly heard in the dialogue of Christmasy-type shows with time restrains preventing them from fleshing out the work life of the central character) But, try as I might, my heart was not in it. A montage scene would show me typing on my laptop, making lists, checking documents, and researching before collapsing head in hands, sighing with defeat. The presentation was not going to get finished. Instead I huffed my way through all my scenes and ordered take out because I was too wrapped up in my feelings to cook.

This is the exposition part of the story. The very beginning. Where we learn where the character is coming from, and can easily draw conclusions to where he is heading. We have me, an unsatisfied and underpaid creative type. Quirky and broke, the main character believes in a higher power that can help him, but expects instant gratification. He is down on his luck, living with his brother in his apartment. He's dreaming of fame and fortune, and most of all wishing for the Christmas spirit that filled him as a child. In a TV movie, I would have a mantel full of photographs to look at mournfully, but I'll have to settle for memories.

Tonight, as I crawl into bed, I'll grumble at the prospects of my unsatisfying life. I'll set my alarm clock for the morning, when I have to trudge off to work and explain to my boss that my presentation is not ready.

"So much for wishes..." I'll say again as I turn out my light.

Then through the window beside my bed I expect to see a twinkling of lights and hear the faint jingle of bells as I fall asleep.

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