Burning...

Christmas is two nights away.  All the gifts have been purchased, wrapped, mailed if need be, and received according to UPS's faithfully accurate online tracking. My finances are strained, of course, but well managed--no one will go without and all the bills are paid. I even have enough gas in my car to get to work until next payday. 1

I suddenly find myself in a nesting phase. I pay homage to my beautiful decorations, lovingly and carefully arranged, by maintaining immaculate housekeeping practices throughout the season. Driving home from work, I feel a tingle, anticipating the relaxation of sitting in a clean room, surrounded by sparkling foils of blues, reds, and greens enhanced by matching twinkling lights and lively dancing twists of smoke twirling from burning candles. I know that I will listen to Christmas music and breathe the sweet, crisp aroma of apple cider liquid potpourri.2

Nestled in my lazy boy, I feel the cold wisp of a draft gently licking my fleece pajamas and thick, fuzzy socks from beneath the window. I find it exhilarating and refreshing against the otherwise oppressive heat emanating from the blazing fireplace.3

I sit comfortably robed upon my throne, happily admiring my kingdom in all its splendor. Life is magical. I am smitten by the order that radiates from within the chaos of packages of different sizes, shapes, and adornments. I am quieted, centered, by the symmetry ensuing from the apparent lack of symmetry of the fiber optic palm tree leaning over the sea of colored bows and paper. 4

I take in every shape, every contour, every glimmer again and again until in an instant, my marvelous view is tainted when I notice a few bits of lint have begun to litter my carpet. I vacuum them away, glad to be rid of their unsightly presence. Then I see that dust has accumulated on the darkened screen of my television since this morning when I last dusted. I dutifully obtain the windex and paper towels to set about restoring Majesty to my surroundings.5

Humming softly to myself, I notice as I wipe away the dust, that the surface begins to get thick and tacky and I scrub a little harder. Now, my world is sterile and pristine as before. As I put away the spray bottle and toss the dirty towels into the trash can, I send them away with a disapproving glance of righteous warning. They are yellow and sticky beneath the black furry particles. I realize the smudge was from nicotine and think to myself, "that's what my insides look like."6

Returning to my recliner, I raise the foot rest and light up another cigarette. I draw deeply on its toxic fumes, grimace and stifle a cough, and imagine my arteries and lungs decorated in yellow carmel and black fuzz. 7

I relax, admiring my view, burning time, burning memories, burning life, itself. Burning...Merry Christmas to me and my family.8