Waiting for Good

I guess you're all growed up when funny is just a bad word substituting for ironic. Or wry. Or whatever. They all point the same wicked finger in the same general, silly direction. My mind feels like I stood my body upside down and willed myself to think straight. Sounds like a potentially illuminating yoga pose, but not really.

Here come the holidays, the flood. I have grandiose plans for realizing the glorious mundane. Will it happen? Is it my destiny this season to be happy and sentimental? I certainly fucking hope so. Food will be prepared in my house, my bathroom will be scrubbed in preparation for guests. And me, well I'll stand in the kitchen doorway like a goofy sentinel with bad posture, awaiting my friends and family with spatula in-hand. They'll all say that they're happy to see me, with or without an apron on, and I will know that it is the truth. Follow your bliss, however unorthodox.