Normally I reserve using the “fast in slow motion” terminology for when I’m describing the current activity I’m doing while stoned out of my gourd (watching Netflix fast in slow motion, taking a cruise fast in slow motion, etc), but alas it perfectly describes the last 5 months of my life.
It would be an understatement to say that I normally love this time of the year. I live for the decorations, the family togetherness and meals, baking goodies, apple and pumpkin spiced everything (Fuck you, Starbucks. I liked it before you commercialized the hell out of it) and just the smell, feel, and look of everything around me.
This will be the first major holiday season without my brother. Today officially marks 5 months that he has been gone and it’s been the fastest snail-paced 5 months of my life. He loved Halloween, especially. I think it had a lot to do with the fact that he was able to go Trick or Treating until he was 18 because he looked 12. His earlier cancer treatments might have had something to do with that, but he always shared his spoils with me. Thanksgiving was always rushed with him. He would show up just before dinner, scarf some food (he would always have time for his sister’s famous apple pie), and head out for his “Friendsgiving” or something more “important” with friends. I never minded because he was still always there, even if for just a bit. Christmas was always the same way with him popping in for just a bit, but he still made the effort. I wish I would have put in more effort to see him outside of those family gatherings or had some insight to just how little time I’d have to spend with him.
I know he wouldn’t want me continually beating myself up for the could haves and shouldn’t haves, but I’m holding up my middle fingers towards the skies and telling him to piss off because I do what I want. I’m going to try and force myself to get into the holiday spirit and that starts tonight. I’m going to make Halloween puke all over the downstairs of my house. We’re talking cobwebs, skeletons, the works! Bob the Butler may even get a costume. Yes, we really have a butler named Bob, but he’s really just a police issued ballistics dummy that stands in our front foyer, wearing a 3-piece because Bob is fancy as fuck.
Pictures of progress to follow. Maybe I need to terrorize some neighborhood children to get me into the spirit. I know a few little fucks that need the shit scared out of them. It might be good for my soul… 🙂
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