Friday, January 06, 2017


Where has all the cake and chocolate gone? Why is there no ice in my glass? Or ginger ale, or whisky? Where are the hunks of ham? The pies? Where are the pies? Where am I? Where are my wooly socks? All is lost. So many unanswered questions.

I was in a fuzzy, warm dream where within arm's reach were only brownies, and chocolate, and clementines, and biscuits and beverages of sweet and strong liquors. I laid on pillows under comforters. My belly grew large but I cared not. My head spun from drink and I cared not. That was Christmas and Christmas always ends.

I went from that heavenly bemused state of half-sleep to the purgatory of an airplane seat and then awoke at my desk. On the screen in front of me were confusing images and boxes and arrows all of my own creation but I knew not what they were. This is how Christmas always ends.

I had forgotten passwords, agreements, arrangements, protocols and meeting times. I had forgotten what I came for, what I stood for, what I cared for. I had forgotten why I was anywhere and where anywhere was. I was speaking to strangers about half-remembered promises but I forgot their language. I forgot the numbers to be tapped. I forgot the way and order to tap them. I grew distracted and bored and tired. This is how Christmas always ends.

In an useless endeavour, as if my desk labours were not torture enough, I stumbled and sighed into a gymnasium and hove weights of iron above my head. I tread like Sisyphus on an endless mill, rolling through numbers until I could take no more. This is how Christmas always ends.

And now we are here. Old Christmas Day. The beginning of Epiphany, the Feast of the Three Kings, when the son of God was revealed. The day my father died. From now on, this is how Christmas will always end.



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