I'm listening to Jeff Buckley's version of Hallelujah, because I love the lyric "Well love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah..." What a great song.
Anyway, the boys are (well were - Hubby just woke up) konked out after an exciting, gift-loaded, busy Christmas Eve day, so I have Pretty In Pink on the tv, muted because I can practically recite it line by line (I love John Hughes) and pulling up interesting videos on YouTube. You see, I live quite the exciting life donchaknow?
I am largely uninspired to write any poetry or anything like that, although I am quite angst-filled as usual. The holidays are not a good time for me. I get anxious - more anxious - and I just am forever wishing them away. It's a little better now that G is here but nevertheless - I'm ready for them to be over.
So tonight, I am just introspective, thinking that another year has gone by, I've hit another birthday (and am far older than I'd like to consider let alone admit), and yet here I sit, in the same quagmire that's plagued me for nearly a decade now. When you've been in such a state of uncertainty - or seeming uncertainty - for that long, maybe it's just your life, you know?
My Christmas-y duties are over and in a few short hours, my rambunctious 8.5 year old will tear into our room and demand we go check out his loot. What he doesn't know is that I know he will also be testing out his "Is Santa real?" experiment. I think he's going to find out the reality/truth - but whether or not he'll let on - well, I guess we'll see.
Merry stinkin' Christmas to all my grinchy friends out there - and for those of you who love Christmas - enjoy it. I'll never quite get it.
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