Saturday, December 26, 2009


What did I get for Christmas? I got a pound of one and three-quarters drywall screws, uh, some packing tape, a 1959 S penny, a shard of broken glass, and a vegetarian burrito. Gave them to myself. I got a pair of sox from my brother's family. I'm building some big wooden boxes to jump on. Well, I built them already, so I don't really need the screws anymore. But I have them, so that's good too. The glass is embedded in my calf muscle. But I'm counting it as a present. It's an attitude things. Give thanks for all things, and that sort of crap.

Which is the best day of the year? Thanksgiving? Xmas? July 4? Easter? Birthday? Halloween? Valentinesday? St Patricksday? Um, Mothersday? Saturday? Am I missing one? How many days are there? Do they all have names?

I bought myself some shoes today. They fit fine in the store, but now they're not as comfortable. Disappointing. My nephew thinks it's his job to criticize his father. The boy is 30 years old and still lives at home. It's sort of ugly, seeing adolescent behavior at that age. Such clear adolescent behavior, I mean.

I got a call from my father earlier today, wanting to discuss some trumped up excuse with my brother and myself. So off we go, dutifully. Listened to the old man -- that's not a sobriquet for "father" -- talk. "And then the judge threw me in jail." And he laughs joyfully as if it were a really funny story, about anguish and betrayal. He asked me twice during the hour if I was in a hurry. He gave us each $50 and some lightbulbs. I gave them to my mother, as from him.

I cannot explain the hostility I feel, towards holidays. When family members move in to hug me goodbye or hello, my response is awkward and forced. I say I cannot explain it, but it doesn't need explaining. Only my son, and even that doesn't flow in quite the old way. I'm out of practice. It must be the coldness of my heart. Isn't it a shame that we aren't the fucking fantasies some people want us to be.


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