It’s Christmas at 11:59PM. So, Jesus was born today. Cool. I am listening to Elliot Smith on my personal laptop computer 2006 years after homeboy was born. It’s funny being with all these secular European people who think the religious Christmas thing is even dumber than most Americans think it is. They, however, don’t think its dumb to set up dead trees in their houses and make themselves feel guilty every year about having to get other people gifts. I personally prefer the myth to the guilt. Tell me some stories about saviors and pretty afterlifes. You can keep all the built-up expectation for imaginary ideals in this life (e.g. the perfect gift or the perfect Christmas morning). Although, I do like the trees—they’re pretty. Plus, the Romans were into them too—I like anything the Romans did.

Okay, moving on…women, that’s my next subject. Nope, not gonna talk about that! Well, I will say that I want to marry one and make babies. Then, my family will cook and eat fantastic dinners every night, drink red wine (including the kids), play board games, read short stories and poems out-loud (in all kinds of languages), eat great cheese and chocolate, pray out-loud, drink espresso (not the kids), laugh, cry, play music, do yoga, perform family plays, sleep all-day sometimes, hug and hold each other a lot, go on walks in the woods, do anything else that we think seems fitting to who we are, and then watch each other die one by one.

So, Paris…I want to move here next year, if I don’t go to Egypt. Just watch me.

What am I doing with my life?

Aight, let’s go. As I dig into the spaces in between the larger cervices, I find little notes I wrote to myself along the years. I found one today and it was excellent. It told me that I wanted what I used to have, but that I gave that up. Moreover, it said that I can’t ever get it back because it’s different now. I couldn’t believe it at first, so I looked for another note to refute it. None. Next, I tried to prove the note was inauthentic: “This isn’t my note! I swear I didn’t write this!” To show how serious I was, I went ahead and tried to tear it up, but I couldn’t. I mean, I could have, but it would have hurt. And I would have been bleeding all over the place. I am staying in a guest room, you know; that’s just not polite.

After I accepted it couldn’t be destroyed and conceded its authenticity, I tried to remember when I wrote it. The problem was, when I wrote this note (and most of the notes I write to myself) I was in one of those external life-changing moods of mine and I wrote it in a rush, as a contrary view to the actions I was taking. You know, just a second thought I might like to remember. What if?

Well thank God I believe in Gospel of Jesus Christ and know everything is moving towards Salvation! It would seriously suck if I didn’t (or at least seem like it sucked). I can’t even believe God makes people choose other ways of perceiving life. It’s seems cruel.

What’s weird is that I don’t ever think about Jesus, don’t know if he ever existed, and don’t care. Weirder: I don’t even know what I’m talking about when I write the word God. And God still lets be a Christian. And anything else I should/want to be.

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is: Thank you Jesus for being born on this day and letting me not care about anything while being tortured by the constant feeling that every instant is of the utmost importance.

Merry Christmas