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It's the day after Thanksgiving. Contrary to what most retailers would have you to believe, the 'holiday' season did not start two months ago. In fact, most reasonable people would agree that it begins today. This is the beginning of a month long panic marked by last minute shopping, cheesy gift sets and Chia Pet sellouts nationwide. A 30-day panic culminating in a wrapping paper explosion, ungrateful kids, sweaters that don't fit, things you didn't really want and too much food. So much preparation for an event that's over in mere hours.....and then the let-down depression sets in and we drink it away on New Year's Eve. Happy Holidays, indeed.
Anyway, guilty as charged. I have started my shopping and know specifically what I have left to buy. For my kids at least. Justin is still a mystery but I'll know his gift when I see it. My Dad is the real puzzler. This is our second Christmas since Ginger died and I ran into this same trouble last year. I rack my brain trying to figure out the perfect gift; something he needs, something he'd absolutely love.....something Ginger might have gotten him. Then it hits me like a brick: what I really want to get him is whatever gift will make him not notice that Ginger is missing Christmas again.
The subconcious mind...she is a bitch.
design by fergie
Bits of fire in the sky push me east back home. I used to live in flames
but it's hard on the wings. Choke me. Smoke me. Scare me back. You try
but you just can't. I peel the layers in my spare time, and you're easy
to see through. I can fly, I've discovered on my own. I may be the lesser
butterfly but my wings are just as strong. Who are you to tell me to find
a place to land? I may be the lesser butterfly but baby watch me glide.
