The tree is up and dressed with soft, white lights, ornaments and icicles.
The cats are already stripping them off and methodically leaving them on the floor where my unsuspecting feet find them at 3:02am.
The other morning I found a ceramic reindeer the sole of my left foot was violently impaled
with the antlers of an unsympathetic and ceramic reindeer.
Yeah, it’s Christmastime.
Although I’ve yet to hear much in the way of holiday music,
I’ve no doubt that within two weeks time I’ll be deep in the complicated state of Yuletide Dismay
wanting to slit my wrists at the mere sound of the introduction to ‘Carol of the Bells’.
It is at this festive time of the year that I unleash my innermost Mister Nasty, the stygian beast within, the curmudgeon of melancholy, my dark saint.
Part of me still harbours (more like imprisons) that little boy that used to love the snow
and the Christmas lights and yes, even the ’Carol of the Bells’.
These days Mister Nasty can’t come out and play.
Actually, I don’t want to come outside.
I play the dark saint of sorts and find my own personal way to somehow make it to December 26th
(Sarah’s birthday for those of you who will find out anyway on her Twitter).
I think that some of my snowy disdain is rooted in the overabundance of past holiday social fatalities.
Dealing with Alzheimer’s Disease ironically (and sadly) made me forget my ‘Santa’ mentality replacing it with this almost diabolical Grinch-like quality – an issue currently Under Construction.
Humor me for the next month or so as I deal with the bleak canvas of winter as my thoughts turn deeply inwards.
This holiday season has quite a different feel to it though and I think I know why.
Unfortunately, I can’t tell you the reason.
So indulge me, won’t you?
And who knows?
Maybe this Grinch will once and for all find his Christmas heart . . .