I’ve just about forgotten about “the magic” of Christmas. I’m pretty sure I’ve worked the last four or five Christmases with little to no consequence. I get what I ask for, I get you what you ask for, a hug here, a picture that’ll make me cringe there. Its the wonder that I miss, staying up until an obscene hour in the morning, trying to listen for an obese mystery to burglarize my home, and leave gifts, eating my mom’s cookies. And its all beyond depressing with my family splayed all over the place, my friends even further out of reach, and so I say, “Yea, sure, I’ll work Christmas, again.” The pay is nice, and people usually drop off cookies and candy canes because they feel sorry or whatever.
Don’t get me wrong, free treats rule, especially the homemade ones (Hadlocks rule, thus far.). My family’s shindig was last night, and I stole back to my quiet and cold apartment with a nice bounty. I’ve done a little shopping today online, using gift cards I’ve already gotten, and pretty much kept to myself. Overall, the outlook’s been full of promise and excitement, but today and yesterday, and I’m sure tomorrow, will be full of middle fingers and foul language.
The writing has come to a screeching halt, however the short story is almost finished before edits, and reviews by fellow authors. I’ll share it when it is finished, fear not. However, while you wait:
Listen to Mumford & Sons, 9 out of 10 non-deaf people agree its good for the soul.
Listen to The Velvet Podcast, Episode 10: You’re a Writer?! Eff You! starring yours truly: HERE
And for those of you in the spirit of the season, or need some more: