I shouldn't post such a Krampus photo for Christmas Eve, but I was so taken by it. . . I couldn't stop myself. It is so terribly ominous.
I didn't leave the house all day. It was cold. I didn't want to move. I brined the buttermilk chicken and cleaned the kitchen. I sent this silly picture out to friends. I listened to a lot of music and forgot to eat. I wrote to Sky and wrote to me and wrote to people I know. And then it was time to go to mother's. I had forgotten about dinner and that I have nothing in the house, but I got a text from one of the Christmas Eve miscreants I've been having cocktails with since 1989. I meet up with the gang--all three of them. The wages of time, I guess. Hungry, I eat a big cheeseburger and fries and drink a black and tan. We tell outrageous stories, all at top volume. Then it is time to go to my mother's.
We walk with some neighbors to another neighbor's house. It is a party full of food. I have half a glass of wine. Most of the people are my mother's age or older than I. . or at least seem so. Two hours later, we walk across the street and it is done.
Home, I got into pjs and poured an egg nog. I sent e-cards with sweet messages to far away friends. I think most of them have preferred C.S. Krampus, though. We are an ironic, if not sarcastic crowd.
You are all with friends and family tonight, I hope. I am alone listening for Santa's sleigh bells. Despite my gruesome Krampus pic, though, I am tender hearted. I will not post "Fairytale of New York" tonight. I simply wish I were with you all in some good place where they served cocktails and good food.
I am all tears tonight. It is forgivable. I'll see you all in the morning. Merry Christmas.