Tonight would be a great night be able to vomit words. That feeling of release, that catharsis, that inevitably results once you get all the bile and crap out of your system and it’s just out and you’re empty and done. Not that I want to spew crap at you, I’m sure we all get enough of that in our daily lives, it’s just a matter of not wanting to do the rundown and not wanting to have to relive minute by minute my average, if anxiety-infused day. And my fiction is requiring a different, less exercised part of my brain so it takes so much longer to produce 500 words that might flesh out or fit in this story, even if they won’t actually be used, so here I am…giving you the run-down.
We just came back from Old Chicago which my sister and I figured would make for decent refuge to get away from the flood of trick-or-treaters which is to say, one or two, who might venture up our stairs for Halloween. As it stands, it’s just about ten o’clock and I haven’t heard a peep. I think it’s pretty reasonable that most parents would not be interested in the stair stepping exercise it would cause to go through our complex, up and down stairs just for two doors – who most likely would be doing what we’re doing (pretending not to be home.) And I know this seems like a jerky thing to do from someone who not so very very long ago milked the Halloween sucker system to get a plastic jack-o-lantern full of candy and sometimes very weird things (like pickles?), but I think this is the lesson of this economy. That what always was will sometimes not be simply because your forebears get sick of your whiny, gimme gimme bullshit.
That sounded very Republican. That’s not how I meant it. I think I spent all day long watching parents parade their mostly very cute children down our town’s streets collecting candy and it just feels like they hardly even were thankful. Just manic and screaming with their hands out.I passed out holiday literature feeling like a crazy person, not in costume, my head thinking back so wistfully to a year ago when I was standing there in front of Mr. Rochester’s shop, a complete anachronism in every respect. Hard to remember a giddy childhood Halloween memory. Trick or treating was never all that fun for me and I think I best preferred the Halloween our landlord scared me so much I ran home and had hot cocoa with my mother and watched the animated Sleepy Hollow. I suppose every generation looks at what follows them and blindly can’t resolve the fact that nothing is the same because we changed because our parents changed because their parents changed and so on…they’re constantly telling me my generation has no work ethic and things I find ridiculous, so I should probably lay off the kids.
No sweets for a month. There’s some work to get your ethics out over.