Overdose at Christmas-Give it up for Lent

Space was at such a premium an end table was held no fewer than four plates. Clusters of diners huddled around flat surfaces. Each group having its own conversation. The noise met in the center of the room, rose to the ceiling and dissipated.
After the food was cleared and the desserts brought out new alliances formed. Couples curled, long legs and arms around each other on chairs both overstuffed and straigh backed. Hands twisted in knots of unspoken bonds, shared drinks, whispered affection between two alone in the noise and shuffle.
In the basement smoke and words twined with the nonsensical random musical background.
The questions, "What are you going to do? Will you stay there? What's the pay like?" grew old fast. I drank and mixed the alcohol with deactivated charcoal in an attempt to avoid alcohol poisoning. That's perfectly healthy behavior. I knew enough to keep quiet after adding the third alcohol to the mix. Champagne, beer, rum, whisky, beer, champagne, beer, rum, whisky, beer.
No one runs his fingers down my spine and brushes my hair off the back of my neck. No one shares his drink or food with me. If I'm smoking mine are the only lips that touch the fag. Not that I suddenly want companionship. But I can see the appeal. The person connected to another soul is somehow immune to the most prying questions. As if waking up next to someone somehow legitamizes a person. I don't need another person to make real my life.
It was sometime around the fifth time I explained my pointless job and unintentional life that the stranglehold of misery caught me. A full house bursting with noise and bodies-I was alone. I couldn't have been more alone if I'd spent Christmas in Nashville. It couldn't have been that lonely. The pain was so intense I could barely speak. For the rest of the evening, even when I got $50 from a sucker's bet, I wanted nothing more than to disappear.
My life has no meaning. Not that I expect much. But if I stopped showing up for work, it wouldn't matter. Who would even notice? It's not like I'm well loved around there. Not that I'm lovable at all, mostly. I'm a mean bitch after all.
The next morning I stayed in bed as long as I could justify. Begging the fold out mattress to spontaneously fold and engulf me. Facing the drive to my cold, tiny, cluttered, empty life was more than I could handle.
Dad made a huge breakfast. Mik paraded through the house singing "It's My Birthday!" Mum packed leftover care packages. I loaded my presents into the back of the demon truck. Dad checked the vitals. I walked the dog. Mik and Jason packed the Jeep. Cope hoped into the truck and curled up on his bed.
I froze. Not from the cold and my lack of jacket. Getting in that truck and onto the highway meant accepting that I would continue living my pointless, worthless life.
Everyone hugged me and said goodbye. Mum pushed me to the truck. Dad turned away. Mik and Jason went inside to get the last of their things. I swallowed hard, got into the truck, plugged the FM transmitter into the headphone jack on my iPod and backed out of the driveway