Day 110/Day 18: Holiday Landmines

My sister showed up three days early, driving in from Saskatchewan on Wednesday night because her best friend's baby decided December 16th sounded nicer than the 22nd as far as birthdays go. You can't blame the kid for wanting to be born, but that seven-pound-ten-ounce bundle of joy has really made things complicated.

I drove to Canmore yesterday, chanting mantras and affirmations the whole drive up, talking myself off the ledge of being behind in my work and getting positively giddy about having two whole solitary days in the mountains to write. I eased up the hill, down our snowy street and opened the garage door. There, in the bowels of a house that's sat stone-silent and empty for four months, was my sister's car.

I stared at it, baffled, as the front door opened and a small dog spilled out. Through my confusion, I understood this creature to be my sister's new puppy. A dog I wasn't sure if she actually bought because we don't really talk much. Not enough to keep track of what's going on in each other's lives. Not enough to know that she was in town, and in the house, early.

She started talking as soon as I got out of my car. "We were just getting ready for a run," she said as though I was expected all along and just in time to join them. Of all the first sentences to choose, this was one of the strangest, starting halfway through a conversation and explaining nothing whatsoever about their unexpected presence. I felt like I'd walked into a sit-com mid-scene without knowing my role or my lines. I was expected to improv, I think, to jump into the thick of it and say something like, "I'll see about the pie." Or, "So I said forget it."

My sister and I may share genetic material, but barring that, we're two completely different species. I, for example, believe in greetings.

To be fair, my sister and brother-in-law weren't expecting me either, so she was probably doing the best she could to normalize her own shock. I was not so graceful. The first word out of my mouth when I saw her car was, "Shit."

But after that, I did my best to engage in the kind of small talk that didn't draw attention to my crushing disappointment and despair. I was devastated that my sacred writing space – for which I have no official ownership – had been invaded. I, like their new puppy, felt like pissing in all the corners. It took all the energy I had to wag my tail and be nice.

They went for their run and as soon as they closed the door behind them, I started to cry, bawling into the phone with Boyfriend, who reminded me that it wasn't their fault the kid came out early and I could always get back into the car and come home.

It wasn't that they showed up early or that we now had to negotiate the awkwardness of people who should know each other but don't. What I couldn't seem to get past was the fact my hour-long session of affirmations appeared not to have worked. It was like the Universe rejected my application. Like the take-out window of the heavens gave me chicken when I had clearly ordered steak. Something had gotten seriously lost in translation between expectation and reality. I pictured God holding his belly on a pillowy cloud, laughing so hard juice came out His holy nose.

All I could do was take a deep breath, look skyward and say, "Verrrrry funny."