After another dose of fa-la-las, bright lights and shitty holiday versions on network sitcoms, I feel a little like the Santa helper in David Sidaris' classic saga. It's not bah-humbug grinch crap but more like alternative realm capitulation. There was a time when there really was Christmas spirit even if it devolved into distilled spirits. It really was like a love zone that zooms in and makes you buoyant and festive and so much fun to be around you could hardly contain your pee. I channeled my Dad who loved Christmas more than anyone. Decorations, trains, picking out presents - he set the tenor and the contraldo of everything that made Christmas even better than your birthday. Where did that go? No where.. It's still figgy pudding ready for devouring but just like your first gangbang, it's been done (DISCLOSURE: never was in a gangbang). In place of all that exuberance and seasonal contrivance is a centering point that lines up your chakras while reassuring me that sanity is a tonic for awareness. It's called Realitrol and it's produced in the body during REM sleep. My soma level is highest when I laugh at the subliminal messages I imagine that I'm a scaredy girl in a sundress when I can see the Ryan Gosling in my reflection. Toughness is fun and long lasting, too. So ho-ho-hold the effing phone all you nihilists and all you tree-top angels - these colors ran and I personally see the drips as immortality in liquid form.

dental ordeal has me in the 6s, a little shakey but oh so focused.