|Accidentally Wes Anderson|
Oy. Cold house, hot coffee, and a hangover. The perfect Christmas morning? I made a mistake and ate some of that gummy candy someone sent to me. That shit never hits you when it should, so I was tripping my brains out when I was brought out of a very deep sleep by a banging noise. I thought it was outside, just some holiday hooligans or whatever. I thought it would stop.
Coming a little bit more to consciousness, I realized that the noise was coming from the house. It sounded like a raccoon was in the attic. Jesus. How in the hell would a raccoon get in up there?
The intermittent banging would begin again after I fell back into my deep narcotic sleep.
WTF? I got out of bed on shaky legs, got a flashlight, and climbed my very dangerous pulldown stairs ten feet to the attic. I flashed the light around in the dark expecting to see a badger or a wolverine. I turned on the attic light and looked around. No peering eyes, no low growls or hissing noises. I left the light on. Maybe that would keep the little fucker quiet. Getting back down the stairs was no laughing matter.
Sometime later, I was awakened again. And again. It wasn't until much later I realized that the banging was coming from the awning over the outside bedroom door. There was a storm outside. The wind was really howling.
I fell out of bed late, of course, blind to the day, stumbling to hit the coffee button. Christmas Day.
A white van pulled up yesterday and delivered a present. What could this be, I wondered? Who would be sending me anything? I took it inside and opened it up, and with great anticipation unwrapped. . . my new aqualung! Yay! Just in time for Christmas!
I put it on and snapped a selfie in the mirror. "This one's for the Ladies!"
My mother and I exchanged presents last night. I gave her a new iMac and told her I would set it up today. Jesus. I'm not sure I'm functioning that well. It is not setting it up that is the problem, but I must mirror her old iMac onto the new one. My hands are shaking, my vision is blurry. I am not looking forward to concentrating.
I must go over soon. We are having Christmas dinner outside. Fine. It is forty degrees. May be fifty by the time we eat. Coldest Christmas here on record, I think I heard. Great. Just fucking great.
My mother told all the neighbors we were serving champagne again, so I had to make a last minute liquor store run to buy more. I got myself a nice bottle of scotch while I was there. Today, however, I am ready to quit drinking.
Oh. . . when I stumbled into the daylight of the kitchen, the cat was at the door. WTF? I guess she wasn't eaten after all.
And so. . . here's hoping for a better year, and a Merry Christmas to one and all.
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