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I will admit: I'm not completely happy with the Christmas Alone thing.

It's not bad; I'm not depressed. And I will have a leisurely lunch-and-afternoon with V. and her family; and if only I'd gotten organized I could have gone to see my family this week (they're all gathering in Washington this year – actually more of them together than most years) – so it's really all my fault.

But this isn't really the ideal way to get through the holidays: someone should be around to share it – it's a shame that my dear friend Paddy went home to his family, or I'd make him stay here over Xmas Eve. Ultimately, I don't like that everyone is so far away – in space, or of course in time.

It reminds me of my cousin P., who shared my name, and was the 'gay uncle' in my mother's side of the family. He was funny and talkative, if a bit overwhelming – in fact, he projected a slight sense of social desperation, of loneliness; perhaps part of it was the fact that he lived with his mother until she died, of course. He had friends, with whom he shared his love of Greek music and food, and I don't know anything about his relationships with them; perhaps he just wanted more of a connection with us, his younger relatives – but it felt a bit like a bid for inclusion, a reconnection with family.

He died of heart failure in February of this year; I remember my mother commenting on his smoking and heavily salted foods a number of times. I guess I just want to know that there's still a chance that, when I'm older, I'll be sharing holidays, and in fact every day, with someone, with some people even....