12.23.17 (1:13AM, a brief sketch of self from bed)

It’s cold enough, but it won’t do it. Think the forecasters lied, said chance of snow Monday to play the hype. But now, they’ve revised. Just cold. Always the New Year, hopefully. I’m yearning for the snow, haven’t gotten a good layer of it yet, seems like it’s been forever. 

Up late, on holiday, back from Mother-In-Laws, mostly an unfortunate train wreck. Think divorced 80s and 90s kids got it extra rough in the holiday season, negotiating all those family relationships, and all the psychodrama that goes with it. How the next generation is held hostage while the adults battle it out. 

Grandma had tried to cancel, we had tried to force it. Don’t want to rant and deride MIL, no real point too, and already done, so better to polite and say she wasn’t at her best. 

It’s more than that though. You know how some people seem to be hurting all the time, but then when you try to talk to them about it, it’s like now your hurting them, so you get wise, try to shut up, but then they’re mad you’re not saying anything, that you’re just sitting there thinking; they hate when you’re just thinking. 

I escaped for a coffee. Housed a disgusting yet satisfying quarter pounder from McDonald’s, and realized the front light was out on the truck. Took the opportunity to fix it. Stopped and bought an obscenely priced pair of bulbs and put it in the driveway. Was unarguably cold, yet I ignored the coat in the truck. 

I like the cold. How it wakes you up, smells crisp, tightens the flesh, gets your juices flowing. It’s dangerous. A quick reminder you ain’t shit when it comes down to it. Bag of bones and blood, lungs. Your mind is forced to wholly consider the body. Ice sheets pierce the existential crisis, when a tumble can cause serious harm. When the lights go out, then we feel small. 

3 thoughts on “12.23.17 (1:13AM, a brief sketch of self from bed)

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