Another Christmas, this one 2005.

I’m in my parents’ basement watching VH1 at 1:10 in the morning, unwinding after having spent Christmas Eve eating & drinking with the part of my family that lives within semi-drunk driving distance.  It was a ridiculously good time, so much so that I’m wondering why this was the first time we’ve done this.  Again next year, to be sure.

Last night over dinner with my immediate family, I mentioned that I’ve been talking to Lauren again, and that there’s a remote chance that I may see her while she’s in the States.  My mother responded by asking: "Why is she still talking to you?"  A good question, to be sure, although it doesn’t seem to be an issue with Lauren.  I occasionally find myself wishing that it was an issue, if only for what it would indicate, which is I don’t know what.  I am talking to her because I feel like maybe my impulsive and oft-childish self fucked up, in spite of the fact that I realize we can’t be together.

Ouch, my stupid head–shut up, it’s Christmas.

I think about what a ridiculous mess I am, and then I realize what ridiculous messes we all are.  Relativity is some down-home shit.

I gotsa bed now–must get up early for Christmas morning, and all that.  It is pseudo-ironic and strangely depressing that as we get older, the later we want to get up on Christmas morning.  I could sleep till noon, truth be told. . . not that I want to, just that I could.  Twenty years ago, not a chance.

I remain confused, obviously. 

Pah rum pah pum pum.

Run like a race for family
When you hear like you're alone
The rusty gears of morning
And faceless, busy phones
We gladly run in circles
But the shape we meant to make is gone

And love is a tired symphony
You hum when you're awake
And love is a crying baby
Mama warned you not to shake
And love's the best sensation
Hiding in the lion's mane

So I'll clear the road, the gravel
And the thornbush in your path
That burns a scented oil
That I'll drip into your bath
The water's there to warm you
And the earth is warmer when you laugh

And love is the scene I render
When you catch me wide awake
And love is the dream you enter
Though I shake and shake and shake you
And love's the best endeavor
Waiting in the lion's mane

-Iron & Wine, "Lion's Mane"

Things I mean to write, but don’t..

• If I wasn’t so neurotic, I’d probably be fat.
• Being single makes me miss every one of my ex-girlfriends–some more than others, but each with distinct fragments of regret.  Some fragments are bigger than others.
• Life was much simpler in Asia.  I also felt more confident and popular than I do in America, or at least it seems so now.
• Sometimes I feel like spirituality is just another manifestation of an omnipresent death-comprehension insanity.  Like alcoholism, or consumerism, or you get the idea.
• I bought some stuff at Wal-Mart this afternoon.
• I called Lauren earlier tonight–she wasn’t home, I didn’t leave a message.
• I have trouble understanding why people continue to tolerate my behavior, or at least why they don’t say anything about it.  Perhaps I surround myself with encouragers/ignorers/enablers/…whatever.
• It makes me uncomfortable to talk about my blog in person, or to be present when someone is reading it. 

…ok, then.