I’m writing this from my phone, one peck of a letter at a time. Please forgive any spelling furors. I’m trapped at my parents house for the next week. My brother lives nearby. To understand him, he has more money than is beneficial to an extended adolescent and a live-in girlfriend who said all she needed to wake-up was a double tequila shot–she’s in her late 40’s–no judgement.
Our outpost is in a retirement community. I’m being fed well, neck deep in cold cuts and cookies. There is no water, the closest I could find is Corona. No entertainment outside the familial wheel of judgement (don’t judge us).
Entropy of mind and spirit are settling in, squatting on my good humour like an Inuit expelling digested whale blubber over a frozen waste hole (Is that offensive? My moral barometer has been eroded through sustained interactions with avowed bigots.)
Over Christmas I learned a few things that summoned the corrosive goblin of depression:
- You won’t go broke being the only fast food joint open on Christmas in a 10 mile radius (twice drove by a drive-thru line that wrapped around the building)
- There are no off-days for casinos (again. A long line of cars heading to and from an Indian casino all day)
- Newspapers still exist, but I think they’re government run and sending cryptic messages to operatives.
- Family is who you choose and those who choose you in return. It’s a concept left to the individual to define, not the random misfortune of genetics.
- More money may grant a child better opportunities, but certainly not better parenting. Related: People who are all-consumed with money, talking about how much they make and spend, etc. are the most insecure people in existence.
- I am confident that when I return home, my house will lay in ruin. It’s not anxiety, I’m just forging my resolve in steel for when I face the reality of my hyperbolic imagination.
- Spending the holiday taint with your family is not for the faint of heart.
- I wish right now I had nearly as many drugs as it took to create the Star Wars Holiday Special.
- Wishes are ineffective.
This is where I leave my sanity. Madness settles in like an aging father into a well-worn leather recliner. Send help…or drugs, George Lucas early 80’s level drugs.