Fuck my two front teeth. Take ’em. This Christmas,
I want to be reading Tolstoy, one of the big, fat, leather ones, sitting by the fire in the Albemarle Library. Right. Now.
I want to be healthy.
I want to stare at the tree, all lit up, in the dark living room, for hours, just like I used to.
I want to walk through the garden in the snow.
I want to sneak downstairs at 5 am.
I want to make everyone coffee.
I want to talk in the kitchen till 3 am.
I want to be warm.
I want to go ride hood till I can’t feel my legs.
I want to eat scalloped potatoes and roast.
I want to see tacky sweaters and decorative dishware.
I want candles in every window.
I want a stocking full of guitar picks, deodorant, toothpaste and floss.
I want wreaths, garlands, bows and little fucking bells EVERYWHERE.
I want to sleep in a proper bed.
I want brothers, brothers, brothers, all of em.
I want pictures in front of the mantle, bad ones.
I want Honey Baked Ham and Pecan Pie.
I want family room jam sessions.
I want non-stop competitive sibling video game action.
I want to be home.