As merry and bright as the holidays appear to be, I for one feel a sense of doom around the holidays. I feel it in my spirit, I feel it in the ever approaching end of the year. I’m not who I should be–yeah, but is anyone? I know, nobody is. But I still feel bad about it. I remember last year, hoping I wouldn’t feel like this, this year. Regrets over the mean things I’ve said to people. The sense of rage I feel often or all the time over not knowing who I am or where my life is even headed.
For me, the holidays bring a sort of solemnity with them. Because I know who I’ve been. And I might say I’ll do better next year, but there’s a good chance I’ll do worse.
And deeper and deeper we delve into the depths.
It’s cold out today. I’m sitting in my apartment and the heater is on-again off-again as often as it can be. On Sundays I am passive and regretful. I am challenged to have a good day and focus on the good. For the good is this:
It’s a day off and there is no one to tell me when and where to be.
My time is my own, and I can make things like this
so it can’t be all bad, can it?