So yeah. We're at Ben's place for the holidays. Arrived on the 24th, actually - pretty posh fucking place, I've gotta admit. It was better than motels, anyway. Then again I'd take a cardboard box off the side of the highway instead of hotels at this point as long as it meant I slept in the same place every night.
Never really liked the holidays. Always reminded me of the shit I didn't need and couldn't afford, even if I wanted it. Family lived out-of-province so it wasn't like there was much getting together. Really my best memories of the holidays were the parties in college, and even then I only got two or three of those. Fuckin' great time. You've never been to a Christmas party until somebody spikes the eggnog and they start strobing the red and green lights. Still got a kink in my nose from one of 'em. Woke up covered in blood from the nose down in the middle of a pile of passed-out liberal arts majors. I don't know what was more colourful - my hair, or the carpet after somebody poured food dye into the drinks.
Art colleges are fuckin' weird. Even totally shitfaced they still manage to create masterpieces.
Never managed washed it out of the carpet, either. Not from what I heard. Some dorm in the University of Regina's got a floor like a box of crayons that flew a little too close to the sun because a few fine art students decided to revel in the Christmas spirit.
But I digress.
It's pretty damn hard to top a Christmas like that, but this year wasn't far off. (Not like it had much competition.) Em's got the biggest and most adorable fuckin' grin and you should have seen how she beamed when she opened her presents. Elaine got me a couple things and I managed to provide a few presents of my own. The food was fanfuckingtastic and I can still kind of taste the sweet potatoes a day and a half later.
Two days. Whatever.
Elaine went to try and find the couriers today.
Try's the operative word there. Couldn't find the House and she's a guilt-ridden wreck for it. Gone and locked herself away in her room with some rum and a sad, sad song. Can't really blame her. Feel pretty goddamn responsible for what happened to them, m'self - can't help but wonder if I wasn't around Fitz might've held it together long enough to get it under control.
It's something like 3 AM now and I can't really talk myself into sleeping. Instead I've started counting the threads of the sheets under my legs. Playing off this train of thought. Putting down what comes to mind. Got no reason to censor anything, really.
Well, maybe a few things.
But don't we all have dirty little secrets?