I have yet to behold the splendor of a holiday, and I'm not entirely eager in anticipation.
I am ready to nap. But that's a story of higher caliber for a more enlightened mind-frame. Going on...
Tomorrow will be, by calendar date, "Christmas Eve." I'm rather sure I take for granted the celestial prominence associated with such an occasion, but it's not my intolerance or indifference I'm concerned about. My breeding futility focuses around something much simpler, and much more provocative in my own mind:
What have I wasted the last year on? I don't honestly remember anything that's happened in the last three-hundred, sixty-five (or "-six," as it's a leap year) days of mortal bliss. And does that strike me as painful, indulgent, insensitive, and plain corrupt?
Yes. Yes it does.
I can handle corrupt and insensitive and so on, but I have to hold myself accountable for something in this deity-forsaken existence. What shall it be, I ask?
Coming Soon: Kelley's Steps for Change in the Midst of Heated Indifference.
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