Twas the day after Christmas and look, I got gnome pajamas! Which I am still wearing; they soothe my hangover. It was a nice Christmas. M loved his record player and A loved her Men of the Westville Pub calendar, and I, of course, love my gnome pajamas. I finished my friend J's Christmas scarf and then we went on over to my mothers, where my brother gave me a Crazy Cat Lady action figure! Yay! I made a really terrible Christmas dinner (I'm a good cook, dammit, but not when I'm in someone elses' kitchen and especially not when that someone is hovering and complaining and suggesting the whole time, dag nab it mom) and drank too much wine and cleaned up the whole kitchen, which led to some bitterness on my part, and then as I recall I had a Buddhist revelation or moment of satori or nirvana, somehow. Like Li Po, I achieved enlightenment with the help of copious amounts of wine. Unfortunately, also thanks to the wine, I don't remember much about it, but I think it has something to do with every task being as important as washing the baby Buddha, which is of course a fairly well known quote, and not particularly revelatory on an every day level, but what the hell. Last night it was.
Christmas is funny; at the time you're kind of stressed and maybe not totally happy, but immediately 24 hours have passed the whole thing is romanticized in your head and everything, even the memory of the overcooked asparagus and something your mother said that maybe wasn't all that nice and something you wanted for Christmas but didn't get, is sweetly funny and soaked in Christmas spirit. It's like instant nostalgia: ah, I remember when, back yesterday, when it was Christmas, and I wanted to hear carols, and the tree didn't look kind of strange, and having silver pine cones in a bowl on the coffee table didn't seem ludicrous. Ah, wasn't Christmas lovely, everyone was so happy, and the food was so good, and it was just a wonderful, wonderful Christmas, back then, when it was yesterday.