Archive

Tag Archives: christmas

It is what you wanted to do and it can still be what you want to do.

Gathering the ancient Christmas decorations from their crushed boxes, giving them all their yearly dusting, freeing something else too.

Some people are parts of you. Some people struggle to be until they stop struggling and try somewhere else.

She is beautiful. She is strong. She is confident. She is smart.

It is only finished when there is no room for anything else; the universe is expanding.

It is over now, I wrote our story down, and wept when it was necessary for me, and the tissues gathered up the love I still had. It is all for everyone else now, and they accept it, and they love. Everything is new and you are rotting somewhere old.

We will be happy again, and still, and people watching will think we carry laughing gas in our pockets but it is only in our hearts.

The snow is falling in a way it never has and never will again. Watch.

Advertisements

tumblr_nchyf7GElF1qzl7pko1_400

He walks to the middle of the road and lays down on the wet cement. Cars run over him — bump, bump — and he returns slowly to his city streets. Boston, Christmastime. Every pine tree is decorated downtown, filled with lights and tinsel running every which way. Mothers and new wives are in their shabby or chic kitchens, baking, rolling, sprinkling sugar and flour over everything. It is not snowing, not cold; just mildly unpleasant as he rolls across town, smelling the air and imagining something else.

He has seen all of the holiday movies worth watching, and so has everyone else. On the television now are horrid things, awful sequels, revisions of visions of sugarplums. Women and men pretending to be from the 1950s, pretending to sing, pretending to have talent. No, no, that’s enough. That must be it. There must be nothing else, nothing new. No snow on Christmas Eve either, just gray slush in the gutters reflecting outdoor blowup Christmas lights.

After a few hours he sighs and scrapes himself off the road. There wasn’t even that much joy in it, he thinks. The only pleasure gleaned knowing that somewhere there are a few shiny BMWs with bits of him on their wheels.

It is dusk as he makes his way home, and he imagines the yards of colorful paper that will fill garbage dumps in the week to come. Covering other terrible things with their shiny foil masks. He rubs at the sleeve of his suit, a bit dusty from his travels. In his hands he carries bags of gifts for his three children. Of course, he made sure to put them safely aside, as usual, before lying in the road.

He expects his wife is home from work by now, waiting for him, sitting around the tree. His family will be there, as always, waiting. He will hide the expensive presents until the children are in bed, and then he and his wife will sit them all under the tree. They will be there, waiting, until morning.

At his house, he pauses at the front gate. He looks on from the dark street, admiring the strings of lights running every which way. He steps up onto the curb, walks past the sidewalk, unhinges the gate latch, marches up his front porch stairs, opens the door. He stashes the bags as the smell of Christmas cookies greets him. He turns to close the door, catching one last glimpse of the road. He sighs as the door clicks shut.

I’m sitting on the upstairs staircase looking out the window and I’m crying. I’m watching leaves blow past, tumbling, and I can see them, picture them in every moment they’ve ever blown across that patch of land. I’m thinking about the decades of years, the piles of blowing leaves. I’m listening to my dad and my uncle, who are downstairs talking about Christmases of the 1960s. They’re talking about my grandparents, and the piles of presents under the beautiful pine trees. I’m watching the leaves blow and listening.

 “Wasn’t that something? Creeping downstairs, hoping that Santa’d come, wondering if we’d been good enough for presents that year? And there would be presents every year, Mom would make sure of that. Do you remember the piles of presents, stacked up around the tree? Man!”

You sit down on the stairs because you feel like you have to and you watch the leaves blow out the window even though you’ve never done that before and you cry and you don’t know why. It’s everything. The past and the present and the repetition and the memories. The old black and white television shows that your dad watches and he says, “When I was young, T.V. was good and music was music!” And he pats you on the shoulder and it makes you feel sad.

And your great-aunt, your grandpa’s sister, she shows you the wedding photo of your great-grandfather, at the funeral of her sister. You are surrounded by family and you talk about death and memories and everyone cries together and she hugs you tighter than she ever has. You listen to distant relatives all talk about this person that they’ve loved all their lives. And they are a stranger to you, all of them. You listen like it’s another story from some other place, some other family.

All of this is swirling like old leaves in your head. The same problems repeating in your life like another Christmas on the calendar. You wonder what it would be like if your grandma was alive, if you had known her. You wonder if you would be brave, if she would’ve helped you to be. You wonder what all of your past Christmases would’ve been like, if you would know the names of those second cousins, if you would still be sitting, crying on the staircase.

The leaves keep blowing and it doesn’t matter. People have died, leaves have crumbled and grown and fallen again and again. Children have awoken on Christmas morning with the feeling of magic, have grown up and become Santa Claus, have felt scared and weak, have cried at funerals and lost loved ones or once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. Grand memories have faded from old minds like dying once-fresh-cut pine trees. People have watched squirrels climb trees and leaves blow across their lawns. Year after year.

1. If you can’t change something, be OK with it. If you can change it, don’t stop until you do.

2. Sometimes people say the wrong things. They don’t mean to – they also don’t mean to hurt you. Communication is hard. Keep trying.

3. If you love someone, tell them. The apocalypse didn’t happen – but that doesn’t mean you have all the time in the world.

4. All I want for Christmas is you! Oh, and a furby.

5. Don’t be hard-hearted. Don’t spread around more hate – the world already has enough.

6. Guys: Man bun. That is all. Also, don’t wear khakis. Also, get some of those cool work/combat/hipster boots. KTHXBAI.

7. If you don’t see yourself as worthwhile, no one else will, either. Everyone is worth something, if only they try to be. Stop whining, start doing.

8. It is good to be excited about things. More people should be excited about things. Get excited, it’s OK! Love stuff. Show your enthusiasm. Stop hiding yourself in yourself.

9. You don’t always need to fill the silence.

10. If you don’t want a person in your life anymore, don’t keep them in it. That’s easier said than done – but stop feeling guilty/selfish/mean for what you feel!

I flick on my blinker and  suddenly realize that I’ve almost driven all the way home without noticing. Twenty miles flew by under the wheels of my SUV as I sat, thinking about other things. Four Corners by Josiah Leming starts to play on my ipod, and I think about how that song always tends to play when I’m almost home.

Josiah sings out of the speakers of my car, and I sing along with him.

“Must have passed at least a million homes,
Can’t but help and wonder which one’s mine”

I got two hours of sleep last night. No, this morning. I went to bed at 5:55am, got up at 8 to finish that paper I had stayed up all night working on. I feel so tired – so tired that I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. Not the giddy tired, either. Just tired. Bone tired.

“Half of the moon is all that we get this time.” 

I drive down my road, towards home. It’s the middle of december, almost Christmas, really, and there’s no snow. No snow in Michigan in December. I wonder if we’ll ever have a white Christmas again. That’s all snow’s good for, anyway.

“Blink twice, it’s never real.”

I keep thinking about you. I want to hang out with you again. I think about how I’ve seen you more than I’ve seen any of my other friends in the past two weeks. I wonder if that means anything. Maybe I just like you because I like things when they’re new, when I haven’t gotten tired of them yet.

“I wish that my heart could eat away my brain,
‘Cause it swings in front of me and makes me insane.”

When I get home I curl up in a ball on the newish purple rug in my room. It’s comfy. Slowly I come to realize that I’m laying on the floor in my bedroom. I don’t care, though. Sometimes being a girl is painful. Sometimes being alive is painful.

“Four corners make a whole,
And the holes will drag you under.”

1. If you got to know that person you don’t understand/know very well, maybe you’d find someone like  yourself. Maybe you’d understand them, maybe you could even be friends. If not, at least you tried to be sympathetic and not an apathetic asshole. More people should be like you!

2. Don’t worry – having weird/awkward experiences will just make you a better/more interesting person in the end! You’ll have the best stories to tell.

3. If someone asks for your help, before you answer them, ask yourself this: if they needed me to do this right now, would I do it? Reply accordingly.

4. No one wants to hear about how cute/smart/funny your pets/children are. They don’t care and they desperately wish you would stop talking so they could stop attempting to look interested.

5. That boy doesn’t know that you’re interested in him – and why is that? Because you’re attempting to show him that you’re interested by avoiding eye contact. AKA, by showing that you’re not interested. Er, what? Either take what you want, or don’t.

6. Stop telling me to smile. Why would I walk around with a smile plastered to my face? I’m not upset, this is just how my face looks! Life isn’t all smiles – so leave me and my face alone!

7. Is it bad that I always assume you’re drunk after 9PM?

8. I currently have a hidden stash of christmas presents in my room that are for my family members. I’m like a creepy hoarder santa!

9. Don’t you come on my website, comment on my About page, and then leave. Um, no. That’s not how we do it here, and your attempt at self-promotion has now been deleted. #getoutstayout

10. People who use hash tags when they are somewhere other than on Twitter really irk me.