Journal Entry 12/1/16

Perry Como – I’ll Be Home For Christmas.

As a man who loves Christmas, logging in to find my blog snowing was.. a soothing surprise, which spurred this entry. Christmas will be a lonely affair this year, as I’ve mostly written-off family in the area. How I love sounding like the bad guy every time I open my mouth.

The sister I haven’t written off [the one I always expected to turn into a nutjob, yet has thankfully defied my expectations] will be coming down with her “father” in a couple of weeks. She’s only passing through for 2 days, and doing site-seeing while here, but we’ll see each other and get some burgers [its something of a tradition that we eat burgers together]. That’ll be nice.

Barring complications, I should move into the new place on the 22nd. The owner of the home, who will be one of my roomies, got along very well with me, so that may improve the holiday. His parents will, apparently, also be visiting, so that may be fun. In either case, that home’s kitchen is sufficient for me making a humble Christmas dinner. Most importantly, I will be free from the destitute shithole that is my current houseshare.

All that is well and good, but remain insufficient for meeting my Christmas needs: when a boy, living with my Grandmother, we had wonderful Christmas’. Our living room was very large, with a tall ceiling, and so we had a massive tree every year. And, for each Thanksgiving and Christmas, our very large home hosted all the family, and friends of the family, within the area. It was.. wonderful.

In the early years of living with my Grandmother, I would always sleep in the living-room, on the floor, in a horde of blankets and pillows – like some kind of cozy dragon on a pile of gold. Doing so during Christmas time, with the tree next to me, with the cats and dog playing with the tree before finally sleeping with me.. was magical. I still remember the glow of the lights, and the sound of a specific mechanical ornament we had which fascinated me.

I was in charge of choosing, trimming, and decorating the tree, as the years went by; my Aunt and Uncle were busy being too cool for Christmas, and my Grandmother was both too busy working, and preferred my decorating to her own. I remember sitting on the floor of the living room, pouring out boxes of decorations all around me, every years – specifically, untangling those lights in an oddly meditative joy.

I’d spend hours making those trees perfect. Carefully unwrapping all of our delicate ornaments, and finding their perfect places. Recalling all the family stories attached to each individual ornament, and having my Grandmother tell me the stories I didn’t know. I’ve forgotten those stories, now. In the early years, she would pretend my work was beautiful, but in the later years, she genuinely believed it.

That would be why, among the few possessions I own that lack utility, is an ornament given to me by the Salvation Army for my extensive time volunteering with them. I’m starting to cry, for the seemingly doomed hope, of one day starting my own ornament collection with a partner I love. Fuck you, Life.


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~ by Louis Naughtic on December 1, 2016.

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