The best explanation I have.

There's something going on at home. I can tell my mum is planning a big surprise Christmas present and the sheer thought makes me a little awkward inside. Not least because the entire family is in on the secret and conversations seem to hush when I walk in to the room. I appreciate the gesture and all, but surprises just make me embarrassed and speechless.

A part of me wants it to be an African Grey parrot, but my sensible side says "Dude, why screw up the next sixty years of your life?"

Well, have you seen an African Grey parrot, dear sensible side? They're simply the grooviest little birds.

Plus I'd love to have a bird that I could train to tease my future partner. A tiny chirping sidekick, if you will. "Who's a pretty broad?"

And he would absolutely have to swoon.

In other news, I fear a mental breakdown. My behaviour is erratic and the tehfincheh veil can go screw itself. Two years ago, I came up with the most outrageous persona imaginable and styled myself to ruffle feathers. These days I've forgotten where the joking ends and the real me begins.

I'm disillusioned by my own choices and other people are paying for it. I'd love to put everything down to a hormonal mood swing, but in reality, I think the festive spirit - or lack thereof - is catching up with me.

When I look back at things, 2007 hasn't been particularly nice to me.

On one hand, I've rediscovered a whole legion of friends. Most of which I became seperated from for this reason and that.

On the other hand, I've lost my Nan and Grandad in the space of four months - two of the most stabling influences in my childhood - and I've endured an ugly breakup from my girlfriend of three years.

Christmas holds a lot of memories for all of the above.

Every year, we'd have a family get together at my Nans and she'd hand out over 50 lucky dips for every cousin, uncle and friend around the Christmas table. It won't happen this time. Every year, my Grandad would wrestle the Vodka from the hidden-most corner of our fridge and overstay his welcome by a whole three days. It won't happen this time.

And just twelve months ago, I was living the west-end lifestyle with my ex. We'd dine in the classier restaurants uptown, go to the theatre, and keep each other warm while waiting for a train in the bitter December cold. It won't be the same this time.

Every time I switch on the radio at work, I cop a load of "All I want for Christmas is you" and it's driving me insane.

My mother puts a brave face on everything. It wasn't too long ago that I was consoling her over the same thoughts that are now plaguing my mind. I remember exactly what she said.

"You wait your whole lifetime to have some money to spoil people with, and your mum and dad have to die for you to get it."

That choked me up at the time, because it was so true. I offered the customary "don't be so silly" denial, hugged her, then promptly slumped off upstairs to cry my eyes out. It's fair to say the festive spirit has passed me by.

We've struggled time and time again through the Christmas period, and overdrafts have taken a battering. But the family has always pulled together. When my Grandad died, it was only then that the inheritance from his property eased some of the crippling financial difficulties.

I guess that's why my Mum is organizing this surprise - to try and make up for the void that she thinks there'll be when we're sitting around the table with two empty chairs.

The thing is, I don't want an extra effort to be made. I don't have the strength or the courage to accept anything other than gratifying self-pity at this point in time.

So it's boiling down to the kind of blog post that I swore blind I'd never publish online. But either way, I've been lashing out at others, snapping at the slightest tug of my dummy and trying to find some way to shift the burden that I feel.

I spend every penny I have on alcohol. I collect nothing. I spit at the thought of saving and I'm usually skint by this time of the month. I'm searching for reason in the wrong places. And while I'm still smiling and finding a joke to crack, nothing is getting better.

I'm sick to death of this tehfincheh gimmick. It's a burden and a phantom exaggeration that started out as a massive lie. The thought that I've morphed in to the very creation that I was mocking, it's enough to make me pull the plug straight away.

Maybe I'm just getting paranoid. Maybe it's all in my head. But the thought that people who I've spoken to on a day-to-day basis could actually view me in that way...it doesn't appeal to me at all.

Anyway, on a slightly different note, I've had several people ask me about the "mystery girl" in this blog. More specifically who I was referring to, and why I no longer seem to talk about her. It was never intentional to leave the nosey cretins of my social circles in suspense, and I've had names touted with nailed-on confidence. But you're most probably all wrong.

Since those earlier blogs, I did actually approach her. But while she refused to reveal her actual feelings, she's always insisted that I am, indeed, a complete and utter nutcase.

I've never encountered such a backwards friendship though. One where it's normal to stay away from each other so that things don't develop any further. A part of me was amused that she'd actually feel vulnerable enough to avoid me (if it isn't cold blooded fear, or more likely - feelings for an ex). The other half was offended that my phone calls went ignored, my messages brushed off, and my offers to actually spend time with her - even as friends - batted away like I was a forbidden fruit.

I'll admit I got a little clingy. I'd been looking for some intimacy, somebody to talk to and share a smile with, but while she never tested my deeper side - I always wanted her to, so I could delve at hers too. It was all a bit confusing. Time and time again, she'd speak of this charming streak that she saw in me as if I'd bowled over a thousand other girls. Yet, I've never been that type.

I reached the end of the road when she told me in no uncertain terms that it wasn't healthy for us to talk properly, that it's too close and too coupley. That was hard for me to take, since my flirty small talk had only been so persistant in wanting to get to know her better.

So I decided to cut my losses and take a step back. I enjoy passing idle conversation as much as the next MSN whack-job, but things were getting complicated and my banter was becoming less and less impersonal. More to the point, my love life has taken a bit of a surprise turn over the last couple of weeks. I realise that it's simply not fair for me to settle in to a potential new relationship - no matter how genuine the feelings may be for a girl that I do like - while my mind's floating in limbo.

I feel quite bad now, though, since I got a Christmas card from her this morning. There's an envelope sitting on my desk which I'll post on my way to work, although I'm not entirely sure it'll be welcome given the lack of understanding I've shown recently.

And I'd hate to think that spilling my feelings in such a public domain would ruin the chances of happier relationships progressing, because that's ultimately what this exorcism is all about. It's like writing a love letter to your sister, wife and daughter all in one go. Painful to be honest, but more painful to be misunderstood by those reading in the wrong context.

The only comfort I recognise hinges on the fact that 2008 is nearly here, optimism knows no bounds, and I'm blessed to be in touch with some genuinely very nice people who I'd like to get to know better.

As you've probably worked out by now, this may well be the final chapter in this blog.

I absolutely hate the thought of my life struggles becoming somebody else's lunchtime reading amusement.

So if I can't find something irrelevant to say, I'll say nothing at all. Either way, thanks to everybody who's wasted five minutes of their life on these pages. You're bigger suckers than I.