...did I make it out? I suppose the reality is that "nobody gets out of here alive," but it depends on the scope you're talking about. I hadn't really thought about it, but I guess that the holidays are coming, and that always leads back to the lost years and pondering why/where/how/wtf. Actually this will be 25 years. That's a chunk of time. I remember the Thanksgiving of '83 quite well. Had lunch and Jack in the Box. Dinner was on a mirror. I remember Xmas eve up to a point. Then it all went away...
People wonder why I hate the holidays. I don't think I hate them, but rather perhaps they remind me of my mortality and my mistakes and the loss of something inside. I can remember a few Thanksgivings and Xmas' since then. I documented some of them visually over the past few years when the demons came home to roost and I had to nod and acknowledge them. The bastards. They just won't leave. It's like they own the place. I recall someone telling me that I just need to ignore them and then they go *poof*. Right. Like that actually works.
