It Was Christmas Eve, Babe, In The Drunk Tank
Posted by PintofStout on December 24, 2007
My mood has lifted considerably since Friday thanks, in large part, to holiday spirits. In the midst of a blustery storm outside and a spectacular meal with plenty of food and drink with my family, my spirit was lifted. The whole holiday experience was dampened slightly by having to get up and come to work this morning, though. But I had imbibed plenty the night before and the night ended earlier than usual so getting up wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be.
I was a little worried about getting out the driveway this morning. Not being sure how much it had snowed, I still neglected to give myself time to salt and/or shovel and still be on time for work. It was pleasantly calm out when I left, having only dealt with one gust while brushing a light, dry, and fluffy snow off my car. The wind was rough when it blew, though. (The wind blows right through ya. It’s no place for the old!) Due to the lack of direct interaction with the fierce wind, it felt kind of warm and appeared to be around 32 degrees Fahrenheit.
The sight that stopped my slide into sticky self-pity, though, I had caught hints of from the upstairs windows before leaving. The sky was uniformly overcast with rich gray clouds, highlighted occasionally by billows of gray clouds floating somewhere between the gray canvas of sky and white undisturbed ground and outlined by dark shadows. At the very edge of this gray canvas of sky, which failed to cover from horizon to horizon, were the fiery and brilliant colors of sunrise. The pinks, oranges, and reds reflected on the gray clouds while the crisp, rich blues filled the space between gray canvas and dark silhouetted horizon. It on is mornings like this that I wonder why I sleep in as much as I do and how many of these sights I have missed. I also wonder how I manage to not drive off the road. The sober answer to the first question probably has something to do with being up late imbibing. I do need to stop answering my own rhetorical questions. Am I talking to myself? Who are you calling a drunk?! What do you mean don’t fight on Christmas? It’s a tradition for cryin’ out loud!
Merry Christmas to all and to all a good fight.