What is it with the holidays and advancing age? Oil bubbling atop water, it seems.
Yes, it’s understandable why the Middle Ages are also known as the Dark Ages, for these are dark days indeed, one where Santa’s sleigh might as well be powered by the black dogs of depression as any reindeer.
The slipperiest days on the calendar are those between Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve. No, there’s not enough time to work full time and put up the lights and buy a tree and trim it and shop for gifts and wrap those gifts and prepare to host a feast by shopping for food and cooking that food and cleaning the house and welcoming relatives and all together now, BREATHE.
My stomach hurts. My brain churns with it. From the swirl dreams surface, disrupting that fountain of youth, sleep. Fatigue becomes my guardian angel, shadowing me though the darkening days. Natural, middle age bags under the eyes begin to sprout new lightning bolts and sag. I look like the 15th round against Ali in his heyday. I put out an all-points bulletin for my creative spirit, the one that used to write poetry, used to embrace zen, used to observe stop signs at the four-way intersection of overthinking.
Lord deliver us from pagan holidays kidnapped by ancient Christians.
And a Merry Winter Solstice to you, too. If you have time.