There are too many people waking up today with Merry Fucking Christmas on their lips.
Drug addicts, alcoholics, Stage IV cancer patients.
And everyday broken people. People living miserable lives with no chance of happiness. People who will never retire, who will work until they die. And die in poverty.
People whose dreams have been shattered by circumstance or by their own stupidity.
People who never had dreams, who recognized life for what it is and kept their heads down and plodded through their existence like donkeys.
Your garden variety humans for whom life was never a miracle, but drudgery, a road littered with razor blades, and hidden bombs triggered by tragic missteps resulting from incomprehension, despair, and tunnel vision.
Zombies who feel nothing because they shut their emotions down long ago. Emotions that never served them but to disappoint.
Cold, lonely people indistinguishable from corpses.
People to whom Christmas lights are no different than spotlights in a prison yard.
Merry Fucking Christmas.
I am not one of them. I have a lot, more than I need. Maybe more than I deserve. That possibility exists. I am only partially grateful because I have not evolved. Still, it's Christmas morn and I am somewhat buoyant.
Why not? Got me a loving family, both close to the heart and extended. And a grandson. A GRANDSON. Friends. New home, new community. Possibilities.
I am not where I want to be, not even close to who I thought I'd be.
But I am. I feel. I breathe. I get around.
A magic day. Dinner with the family. And time to reflect upon it all tonight when I get home and settle into the recliner with Patsy and Emmy Lou in my lap, Carol on the couch next to me, lights off, Christmas tree lit and the TV performing its relentless lobotomy.
Merry Christmas.
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