January 6, 2004
Tanenbaum
Three Kings Day. There I am, crouched on the living room floor, jamming a red-and-white striped candy cane into the vacuum hose. I find myself showered in pine needles, as does the rug, and the hardwood floor.
I need a bigger candy cane.
I am always loathe to take down the Christmas tree, though this is the first year that it has been taken down on the proper day, seeing as it was my doing, and not my mother's, and Mike's living room, and not my home. Dad I boxed up all of the ornaments, glitter rubbing off on my hands, shades of rose and evergreen cast against my palms. didn't get a Christmas tree this year, but he hung our stockings on the little shelf that served as our mantles. Hung with care, they were, I'm certain.
I boxed up all of the ornaments, glitter rubbing onto my hands, shades of rose and evergreen cast into my palms. I removed minature plastic Gandalf from his perch in the very heart of the tree, and laid him to rest inside the bureau. Next year, maybe, he'll have R2-D2 to accompany him.
And I wonder about leaving my own ornament with Mike's, the one of the little angel, painted with my name; and then I dismiss the thought. Is there to ever be a Christmas apart from him? I think not. I leave it alone, then, and close the cabinet doors.
Today is gorgeous, if bleak. The blue of the sky seems more like paint than atmosphere, as if the heavens have something to hide. My view out of the window is obscured by the Christmas tree, which I managed to haul only as far as the porch (roughly three feet) before giving up. Maybe Mike and I can set it on fire tonight, roast some marshmallows in a fit of final holiday revelry.
I do not know what I am coming to, or going on about, or soon to say. I have exactly five days left of vacation before second semester begins, and I have yet to decide whether or not I am looking forward to it. Today I think I've cleaned up the house less to please Mike and more to occupy my mind. I've got too much on it that shouldn't be, and not enough that should.
Is disatisfaction the only trustworthy muse?
astera at 4:54 p.m.