Noël: Plus ça change

So far this festive season I fixed a flapping window in a storm, been electrocuted by vintage Christmas tree lights, and balanced a ladder on a slippy roof with a brick to sweep the chimney in the rain. The goddamn rain. It was worth it. We had a fire afterward, unlike the night before, spent shivering in bed despite wearing a hat and jumper. My sister told me she had to wear her coat to bed. A fucking coat! It’s a big heavy coat too. She was shivering anyway.
I’ve just fixed the TV, literally, in between typing. The loud constant buzzing was driving me insane, I don’t know how it hasn’t driven my family insane. Maybe it has.
These are but trivial issues, I know, compared to what others are going through. We had food, drink, presents, a tree, even if it’s a fake one. Maybe it’s apt for Christmas to have a fake one. We had a row over the meaning of Christmas even as we tried celebrate what we were arguing over during the so-called Christmas dinner. Spuds, turkey and wine are real, at least we could agree on that. That’s all that matters.

Whiskey, beer, a gun – he was offered everything but cocaine and he turned everything down but the gun, which he shot with frightening precision at the door before revealing himself as a card shark. Another Christmas has come and gone. The more things change the more they stay the same.
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