s5. christmas

My name is Oliver Radson, again, hello. I hung Christmas lights tonight by myself listening to Wolf Parade pretending not to know I'm a month or so late. I'll probably take them down tomorrow, after my family comes over and has their meal, after they talk about their selves and I listen like myself. My relatives are always anxious to stay a few more hours than I'd like them to, they come over to my place because they know I would decline an offer to go over to their's. They think they're smarter than me, they probably are.

Olivia is usually home for Christmas, but not this year. She's in art school, you already know that, I already know that. I tell myself certain things over and over, the names of my favorite songs, that Olivia is gone, the name of my 4th grade teacher, like I would forget them if I didn't repeat them always in my head. I might forget though, really, I just realized I forgot to get an extension chord for my lights and now I'll have to drag my tree halfway across my living room. You never remember stupid things like that though. Minds always think 'big picture'. Existential bullsh.it. Pertaining to or perplexed by or something of the sort. Once, Olivia got her hair caught on the oven handle at my old house and swore she had some philosophical destiny with it, she took the oven when I switched houses and then brought it with her to college, it didn't even work anymore.

Attachment is a stupid thing. I refuse to find a more fitting, fancier adjective to describe it. Human beings can never let go of anything, the ones who say they have 'moved on' are just fu.cking with you. It doesn't matter, the death of a cat, death of a family member, losing your favorite sweater, human beings never forget. They might think they have moved on but really the event is stored somewhere in their sub conscious and will appear someday out of nowhere, intermittently, unexpectedly, still surely somewhat intentionally. Whether it be in a dream, during a final exam, on your wedding day, these things just appear. The day your father dies you'll remember that cat you had that you thought you hated in elementary school. The first time you fu.ck the girl you're in love with you'll remember the time some little prick called you a fa.g in middle school. You won't forget, trust me. We're attached to all these little moments and memories for eternity.

The Christmas tree is done. It looks okay, I guess. Its slanted, a little. It's top is cut off too short. It's bottom is too visible. There's a limb sticking out in the front I won't bother to cut. My little cousin that can barely walk will probably get caught on it tomorrow and take the whole tree down. This will probably make my aunt throw up and my uncle will probably swear at me for not cutting that branch off. I might laugh, but maybe not. I'm too tired to think about what hasn't even happened yet, and if I'll remember, or if I'll forget. Good night, My name is Oliver Radson, again and again.
Last edited by rushmore at Dec 25, 2009,
That was pretty cool. It had some really good ideas and was fairly smoothly executed and well written. Nice
sorry if this read like a diary entry, i don't really see it, but i would probably be the last to realize it. it needs tightening i know, it needs something a little more.
It's all good.
It's really nice.

I posted something too.
Winkity wink wink.

I never post here anymore.
I hate this place.
Poor advice.