My Cardboard Balcony

I Suffered The Post-Christmas Coma by Belinda Roddie I suffered the post-Christmas coma, as I dealt with bloating from the dinner and withstood a headache from too much cider. The holiday season was not over quite yet, as the new year was approaching, and technically, the twelfth day of Yule was on the sixth of January. So I'd drink again and eat until my jaw ached, and I would indulge in the warming company of my friends and family. Yes, soon I would recover from the trance that Christmas dragged me into. Much as I preferred a break from the festive fever, a little more cheer? That I could endure.

We tried to sell the car to the best buyer, but to no avail. It didn't matter how much we knocked down the price. Ultimately, during the aftermath of Christmas, all we could do was haul it off for a solid seven thousand dollars to an old, frumpy man with a contagious smile and probably even more contagious head cold, which he tried to contain within a very spotted handkerchief. "My son will love this," he gurgled as he hopped into the car and I heard the clanging of my manager's heart settling against his belt buckle.

A Boombox And A Bicycle by Belinda Roddie Four men lit up, swirling smoke around icicle lights, beside a gas station beside the nearest overpass, while one of them carried a boombox against his shoulder, and a bicycle lay propped, undecorated and uncelebrated, on the pavement next to a Yield sign. Elsewhere, a hotel's Christmas tree glowed in its window, with a wreath haphazardly suspended on a close car's front bumper, twinkling holly and poinsettia as the driver coaxed the festive but fatigued vehicle to life. The fast food chains were still hopping, while I, full with roast and starch, headed back to the apartment where the colors waited to be re-ignited, and gifts waited to be put into their proper places. Somehow, I felt restless, yet simultaneously, in a twisting coil of conflict wrapped in tinsel, I was also in a weird, comforting state of peace.

Guess it makes sense not to have a OneWord on this day. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Sugar Cookies by Belinda Roddie We made sugar cookies for the landlord - and the neighbors and the store owners, and the lonely old man who lived three blocks down and wore three snakes on his shoulders, which complemented his straw hat - and we saved a few for ourselves, spreading crumbs beneath the holly, the red light kissing the water from our window, where sleigh bells could be faintly heard.

"I'm going to the concert, but I have to do some shopping beforehand." "For what?" "Oh, you know." She waved her hand dismissively. "Bare essentials for the refrigerator. Milk, eggs, bread, butter..." "Get the Irish butter," I encouraged her. "It's perfect for the holidays." "And smell like a leprechaun for the Gay Men's Choir? Beautiful." "Hey," I said with a smile, "means there's a pot of gold at the end of their rainbow."

Holiday Headache by Belinda Roddie It's how many days to what?! Get me another beer.