Your cocktail sir,





2004-12-06 - 10:39 a.m.

I feel like Iíve been infected with the Rage virus from 28 Dayís Later, and that at any moment my skin will turn black, my eyes yellow, and Iíll be unable to stand the light. On the plus side Iíll be impervious to pain and will no doubt frightening my employees into a productive spike that should, at the very least, make for a decent Monday.

I still think itís the season that has me so out of sorts. And while it is easy to blame Christmas, I think for once Iíll choose that easy route even if it means the fast track to hell. Or so those seemingly friendly Sunday school parables written during the cold war tell me. And if you canít believe in the lies of your youth, then what can one believe in?

I spent my weekend doing some Christmas shopping, or rather, driving my mother about while she did the Christmas shopping. It was nearly two full days of malls, stores, and crowded city streets. The beginning of the end is very near however, and though talks of escaping to the Cabin in southern Utah or renting a condo in Park City have fallen through, Iím hopeful that the actual Christmas Day will be devoid of any family same my parents and the dogs and involve nothing more stressful than which film to see, and what to cook up for dinner. I suggested we ice the path leading up to the front door but my parents feared a lawsuit, and while they are current on the homeownerís insurance itís best not to push it seems. Iím going for no decorations and hiding in the den but that goes against my motherís innate need to decorate. She views the house as her canvas and a reflection of herself thus is must at all times be a mansion of magnificence. Which, it usually is. I just donít want it to be inviting. Because Iím a bastard who no doubt is in for a Christmas comeuppance that will teach me a valuable lesson about life and abundance on Christmas Eve, changing my for life. Hopefully sans a small cripple boy with a squeaky voice, because really, Iíve suffered enough. Which reminds me, that damn Old Navy kid who chirps about Old Navy fleece being festive? That kid is not safe around me. At all. I much prefer the Gap ads. And the Banana Republic print ads, with their dark drawing rooms, anorexic models, and natty attire. Quiet, simple, free. Thatís the holiday that I want. No bright colors. A doorman to keep the carolers away. A fundraising dinner to help autism or something that I can just bid on a silent auction piece and never come face to face with the children I am helping (less the 60% administrative costs).

Itís a cynical holiday attitude Iíve fostered. Ah well.

previous - next

Zen and don't cry out loud - 2007-07-29

Zen and the stumbling rocks of fitness - 2007-07-19

- - 2007-07-11

Zen and fasting - 2007-06-20

Zen and hiccups - 2007-06-18

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