I sigh. It’s that time of year again. Funny how I get so excited, anxious, and angry all at once. When the smell of cinnamon and rain hits me I close my eyes. I wish it could be like before, when I was young and materialistic. Now I get less each year, but it’s not about gifts I guess. It’s too early to scream “Merry Christmas!” even though I’m ready for the snow. I want to dive into a hay bale with my friends. It’s almost time to binge on my candy while finding clever ways to watch R-rated horror movies. Suddenly a wave of pain attacks my gracious feelings. I can’t help it. Has a year really gone by? I still have everything from last year. Maybe I’m more organized than I thought. My mind is spiraling, so I do what I normally do to force my thoughts in a visual direction. Now I’m trying to focus on a woman in the rain. She has black boots and a matching umbrella. She is mid-twirl, and her brown hair is dancing. Her face is not visible, creating a mysterious element. And the yellow-orange leaves on the trees and ground are soggy and wet, because details matter. Now I’m trying to draw her, carolls and spooky stories echoing in my consciousness. Annoyed, I focus on one thing. Thanksgiving. I remember the assignment I did in 6th grade about the controversy of the holiday. I look back down. My drawing “groove” has been disrupted.
holiday nostalgia pt 1/5
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