Staying up all night on Christmas Eve is a true testament to disillusionment. Christmas Eve was the one night that I couldn’t wait to be over as a kid. Perhaps other nights I was a bear to put to bed, but Christmas morning was the apex of joy, I can still remember lying in bed and shutting my eyes so hard, just hoping that I’d fall asleep faster and Christmas morning would be here even sooner.
Now on the sacred night of Christmas Eve I take off out of the house as soon as familial traditions cease to get stoned with my friends and forget about how special these days used to be.
The drugs are always just a lubricant to get to how we really feel, to get to just the tip of that feeling – then completely reject it consciously, from there things just kind of fall into place. Then the age old question, did I take drugs because I was numb or am I numb because I started taking drugs? It’s a bull shit question with no answer at all, really. Or at least a question that doesn’t god damn deserve one. Debating it would be a complete exercise in futility because whichever is the case I’m still here at square one. I’m still awake, on Christmas morning, unable to feel a god damn thing. I must be a real cold hearted bastard to feel like this on Christmas.
I just don’t feel like I used to. The years blow by whether we are capable of grasping a hold of each day or not. It just seems more appealing to let them all slip away, these days. Hazy nights and groggy mornings, despite those clinging hangovers, do just feel better. I don’t know what we’ve talked about on those late nights, but I know each word was deeply important. All this nonsense fills my head this bitter and icy Christmas morning. It fills my head up with rage and anger, confusion and pride. Perhaps I’m not as numb as I thought.