chou chope

suicidal santa

My shweet loverlies,

If you should see me shirking through the Walmart in the wee hours of the night, don't be frightened, don't be worried, though I cry incessantly, I'm alright.

See the dark, deep gash in the meaty part of my thumb? There's another on my opposing wrist. Yes, things got very violent the other night. There was a knife, and some scissors, and a few other random weapons from the tool drawer. You have never heard such a rampage of malevolent language in your life.

Turns out safety plastic is the antichrist. I proved it.

I finally hit the hay at two. At 3, True went to the bathroom and claimed he heard Santa just "ho ho ho-in' around in the living room" (I wish). We then began a 3 hour debate about when might be an appropriate time to wake his brother and go see what Santa left.

By six, brother Alex (who relocated to my room to try and throw off True's prodding) is up and at 'em. At 6:30, I emerge on little to no sleep. I'm grumpy and groggy, but I think, let's do this shit, and I persevere.

I make it to the coffee pot before I notice something. All the bionicles are already put together and posed for combat along the fireplace ledge. There is a new carpet of legos and chocolate extending from the stockings to the couch. Candy wrappers are everywhere. Orange peel. Apple cores. It's as if Christmas happened hours ago, and chances are, it probably did.

I consoled myself with chocolate which has since led to a fresh crop of deep rooted chocolate zits. JOY! So to go with my bruises, scabby slashed wrists and missing fingernails, I am now developing a lovely meth-head complexion.

I worked Friday and Tuesday and barely slept a wink in between. I feel real shitty and I look worse, but was it worth it?

Well, what do you think?

Posted by shoe at December 27, 2006 10:00 PM | TrackBack