Just me and a Christmas tree

Sitting home working while Maggie's out partying with friends til the wee hours. Listening to Bing Crosby and meditating on feelings of Christmasness, trying to think of good reasons to clock out. Thought about having a pint at Mission Dolores, just to get out of the house, and to clear out any lingering cobwebs in how I feel about my neighborhood in the nighttime. IT IS CHRISTMAS TIME. Sitting home doing data entry is not where I want to be.

Tired. Extremely difficult to dial down how wired I feel at the end of the night. Liberal application of Irish whisky works well as a nerve tonic, but only up to a point. Then you just cycle back around and find yourself wired and drunk. Despite all that I had a moment of unalloyed joy yesterday when instead of being bummed about getting jacked in front of my house I shifted without prompting into raw gratitude that it had only been me victimized. A shitty thing happened to me the other night ... and definitely did not happen to any of the people I love, which is a pretty amazing gift. I realize that this isn't a zero sum game, but still. Like, people say to me, At least you weren't hurt? Which is true, but doesn't feel like much to be grateful about. But thinking, At least Maggie wasn't with you? Man, that feels fucking great. Cheers to that!

I need something to wear on Christmas.