And suddenly, an intricate wooden Viking ship moving along in some kind of solemn procession? About loveseat-sized. People were throwing effigies and carefully folded notes on the deck. I channelled my banal little regrets into a wad of rummy gum and threw it on as it sailed by.
After a gentle launch off the wharf, the ship was shot afire with a flaming dart. The crowd got real quiet watching it burn. It burned for a long, gorgeous time before pitching with a sizzle and sinking our troubles into the deep.
I'm nowhere near the sea this year. I am cozy by a woodstove with a sleeping babe on my lap and a grotesquely good book on the arm of the chair. This year has been so so god damn incredible- but I have a few grisly hauntings to chuck in the woodstove.
Fuck you, vaginal surgeries under tinkly wind-chimes. Fuck you, world, for the literally barking mad pedophile living behind our bedroom wall, until we moved. And fuck you, Wilford Brimley, yeah, I still hate choo.
Why hello, 2012!