I think I Ate It

I bit the big one when I took a drive deep into the city a few weekends back.

The police,

as per usual,

on the job, but out and enforcing strong. He looked at me from the side of my car, though I didn't look at him, and I had a fuzzy feeling he'd be jumping behind me.

He did.

Took him not even a second to light me up.

"Do know you have expired tabs?"

"They're not expired. I lost the sticker."

And without much other toggling, he went around to his computer and came back, told me I could pick up new ones - which I wasn't aware - and went on his way.

No later than twenty-four hours later, I was met with another.

God, this must be some sort of self-induced karma.

Either that or life has a way of clapping back at me when my health starts to finally resolve.

"You were going fifteen over."

"No sir, I was not."

"Well, I caught you on the radar."

"Alright, well, I'll take it up with the court."

He hands me my ticket and I'm on my way.

The night is starting early. Twilight ringing into the evening on a black-stained starless sky no later than five pm and I'm already trying to find my way out of the soul-sucking dark before the depression seeps in.

Drying my eyes, I blink away.

"He's doing his job," and I drive on. My heart isn't in it, but I buy my used supply and hobble my way home.

As you would have it, I was already struggling with a fit of lack of sales to compensate for my attendance at a set of few events in the local area. My savings dwindling, and my heart aching already. I was holding onto every last bit of hope my breath would allow me to take, but it was all dashed.

Dashed away and I was struggling not to let the holidays sweep me away with their highs and their worst of worst lows.

"It's just a stroke of bad luck. It can get better."

Not much better, I should I amended no sooner than a week later.

A smashed bottle of glass in my hip bag.

A couple smooth cuts to my fingers with the sweet sweet symphony of my hollers at the behest of my fucking intellectual knowledge to disinfect it... with liquid antiseptic.

I pitched a scream for a few weeks, bandaged myself up, and maybe kicked my hitch trying to walk around it. I don't know. I lost count.

Stepped in deer shit trying to have a slight bit of fun with my daughter, dragged it into the house, and thankfully my husband was kind enough to drag it back out and wash my boots off.

Now here, I might have thought. I can turn my mood around right. I can sit up, take the adulting and just chalk it all up to my inability of being aware of my surroundings.

Well, I got hit with a few more doses of reality. Burnt my microwave out with a defective pie, and then might as well have stuck needles in my eye since I ingested some form or the other of an allergen that led me to the Urgent Care in a matter of less than a few hours time, only to be bounced back and forth between two pharmacies.

"I'm so fucking done." I might have said in some tune, or shape or form in dramatics to try to get a rise out of myself, to laugh. Something! I need a fucking reprise to help lift my mood, but god dammit, in my eyes. I hate the lies. I hate the festivities, the holidays, and all that it drives.

The people are foul. The moods are shitty, and looking at Christmas ornaments reminds me of the childhood that makes life feel gritty. I wanted to bring myself into some form or the other of a hope, that I could drag myself together for not one, but three children, put up an effing tree and say, "it's for them" and I can't. Out of all the holidays, I hate the most. I hate hate hate... Winter. Christmas. The things everyone gets so hyped up for. I can barely bring myself to dress for Halloween anymore.

When did I lose myself? When did the holidays start to feel so drought? My husband doesn't even like them, wants nothing to do with them, but in my children, I know that they are like fire light. They see all the sights, hear all the happy memories flow from their peers, too and fro. Fuck me for not trying hard enough. God damnit all. I could do more. I want to, but every time I touch it, I abhor it all the more.

God damn these fucking holidays. I'm so burnt to hell.

I might as well crisp myself over the fire, because I know I'll never do this god damn holiday well. Do it justice, do it right.

I'm just in for another fucking fight.