It’s so difficult getting into the holiday spirit when there’s a slurring orange dumpster fire currently in charge of the “greatest” country in the world (yet, needs to be made great again, for some odd reason). Impeachment or resignation would be a great present not just for the United States, but for all the world (minus Russia, of course).
This isn’t a political post, though. That wasn’t my intention when I started gathering my thoughts for it earlier today. It’s just that this year, I’m not in the spirit of things. Halloween came and went without excitement. I half-assed Thanksgiving. And Christmahanakwanzika… don’t get me started on Christmahanakwanzika.
There are moments I worry the depression is winning. I haven’t been on antidepressants since the start of the year. And things are off, you know? The only moments of happiness are when I’m texting her. Or talking to her. Or, you know, just thinking of her.
Shit. If I’m not careful, this feeling might turn me into some sorry sap of gushy emotions.
These paragraphs are just thoughts mixed with self-doubt. Writing again. Or attempting to write again. It’s a retelling of a Christmas classic that I conjured up on day in college and never got around to writing it. Not sure if because it was corny to begin with or because I wasn’t meant to write it back then. Who knows. Making notes. Scribbling thoughts in journal. Typing chapters in nonlinear order. Jump starting the brain.
I need a Bob Dylan soundtrack. I need to immerse myself in the holiday cheer. Before I lost something of myself battling the voice.
Eh, I used to care, but…
Chapin City Blues 