Ghost's of Christmas Eve

Those of you who have been here for awhile, and I think there are only a few, know that I will post on Christmas Eve.  I was right.  Yesterday was mania.  But I didn't crash.  I descended slowly into the abyss.  It's o.k.  I've been here before.  It was a really bizarre day.  My mother either took three doses of her pills this morning, or she lost two of them.  Beats me.  When I left her mid-morning, I didn't know what to expect.  

I had much to do, though, and did it in a way.  I went to the liquor store and bought what I needed for friends and family.  I took a bottle of Veuve Cliquot and a bottle of good French wine to my buddy Travis.  I bought three other bottles of champagne just in case. I went to Whole Foods to get the makings of a good seafood stew.  The store was a madhouse.  I got what I needed and then I got confused.  I went home to check my email.  Things were copesetic. Things were fine.  Some people sent me holiday wishes.  Others were otherwise engaged.  I went to the Boulevard for last minute shopping.  The crowd was not the crowd of Saturday.  I don't want to say.  

I bought a few more presents.  

When I got back to my mother's, I took presents around the neighborhood.  People were with their families.  

My mother was in misery.  It is difficult.  It is hard.  

People surprise me, but it matters little now.  I was not on the Boulevard drinking with old friends.  The widows and orphans have all dried up.  

My old factory friend's father died this morning.  How horrible a Christmas Eve.  

I got an email from an old friend in London.  She has left her job at the BBC and is going to put all her efforts into being a puclished writer.  

Late in the afternoon, I went to the Loser's Cafe.  Drawn like a moth to a flame.  

Everyone is with their loved ones tonight.  The night is quiet, not a creature is stirring.  

After my mother went to bed, I wrapped her presents.  I will make French toast in the morning with bacon.  Then I will let her open her presents.  There will be none for me. . . not this year.  No secret Santas.  Bagel.  but I am certain my mother intends to give me money in the morning.  No es bueno.  If I outlive her, I can get it when she dies.  But I don't expect to, especially not tonight.  

We will eat with her neighbors tomorrow.  Fun 🤷🤷

But. . . "they cannot scare me with their empty spaces. . . ."  I am crashing and will go to bed.  I can only hope "visions of sugar plums dance in my head."

You know I'll report.  In the meantime. . . .