First jolt of coffee for the day. At least one stove burner is still working, a pleasant thing to find out–of course the repair lad is coming tomorrow, and in the meantime we have Boris the Drip and Matilda the Microwave, so we’ll be fine, just fine. Still, it’s some-damn-thing else I didn’t want to have to deal with, especially this time of year. (This may be where I say now is an excellent time to buy some books, right? RIGHT?)
I’m also deeply annoyed that I can’t afford the gouging price they’re charging for a Covid booster, let alone flu or RSV. (What, you think a freelance writer supporting an entire household can afford medical insurance in America? HA!) And before some “helpful” person talks about “government bridge programs”, let me just tell you I do not have the energy for that deliberately red-taped and time-consuming nonsense. I am busy paying bills and attempting to keep this ship from sinking.
If I die of the plague, blame pharma-corporate and “insurer” greed.
Anyway. The new, larger tree has been brought up from downstairs. I got a 3ft one years and years ago for the kids, since they love the holidays almost as much as I despise them–and let it be known I am glad to have it so, it is one of the great victories of my life that they do not associate this time of year with capital-T Trauma–and there’s a small story in that. Just after Samhain this year I was at the local buy-everything with my daughter and they already had the Christmas display out. Including fake trees for a whopping 75% off, probably last year’s crop or even left over from lockdown overstock.
So I took the plunge, because our poor little 3ft fellow lists heavily under a slowly accumulating crop of ornaments. Now we have a seven-footer, fit for hanging no shortage of gewgaws and even an Odin on. We’ll rehome the small one eventually, never fear; I anthropomorphise nearly everything so deeply I wouldn’t dare throw him in a landfill.
Besides, all his lights still work.
Anyway, today is the solstice, Yule proper for our household. Up goes the monument with winking lights. Boxnoggin will be utterly beside himself, and there will be at least one nighttime crash as the Mad Tortie decides to scale this new addition to the living room clutter. At least the three-footer meant she didn’t have far to fall, but this new Matterhorn will be nigh irresistible to her ambitions. A fun time will be had by all.
Hopefully the repair lad dropping by tomorrow will have the parts necessary to return our range and oven to full glory. The model number and several pictures have been texted to him–we do live in the future, my goodness–and he’s been by before during the Latest Dishwasher Incident and (who could forget?) the Saga of Washing Machine. Corporations really have deliberately engineered appliances to fall apart after ten years or so; it’s amazing. If they turned all that know-how towards actually making their products better who knows what might result? But fiduciary duty to shareholders forbids–the name of the game is enriching the already-rich.
Do I sound bitter? Not really. Just…weary, and wishing this time of year was over. There’s a few more things I have to tie off before I can shut down and perhaps take a few days off around New Year’s. I likely won’t rest, since the very concept is rather foreign to me, especially lately. But I will spend time simply working solely on something that pleases me alone, like the ragged, happy-go-lucky swordsman and the serious no-nonsense assassin in House of the Fan. Their first meeting is somewhat of a delight, since she outright laughs at him.
Some years are better than others, or at least easier to deal with. This one is…sub-optimal. But I hear stirring in the hallway, so it’s time to make a little more coffee and help set up the new tree. The kids are excited, and I can take solace in their joy even if I distinctly do not share it.
Happy solstice, my dears. The Long Night is here, a time of rest. I will not be holding vigil tonight–too tired, too sad, too worn down. Yet I know others will, and that’s a comfort too.