I don't know what happened.
Lauren made a most delicious dinner.
Baked salmon with lemon risotto.
It was cooked perfectly.
Then we watched Elf.
It's a Christmas movie about Will Ferrell.
I got dark.
I got hateful.
I sat there grinding my teeth.
I thought about Christmas.
And its expectations.
And its forced, artificial merriment.
And how I didn't have the money to participate properly.
And how I didn't know what to fucking get anybody.
And how I didn't want to receive any fucking presents from anybody.
Because it's always a fucking shirt that I never fucking wear.
Because nobody knows me.
Because I won't let them know me.
Because I'm afraid they won't like me.
The actual me.
The me that uses the word fuck.
The me that has an obtusely dark sense of humor.
The me that doesn't believe in God.
The me that doesn't belong to this society.
I can't say I'm the biggest Will Ferrell fan.
But he couldn't have taken me here.
I had gotten here on my own.
In my 2010 Selfishmobile®.
The movie ended.
Lauren asked me what I wanted to do.
"I don't know."
I laid down on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Lauren had no use for me.
She's not good with kids.
So she closed the door.
And I laid there in darkness.
Wide awake staring at a black ceiling.
Until I hated myself to sleep.