The Nitty Gritty

I'm on my second cup of coffee post-dinner, Andrew's out for his second job of the day, not to return until after 2 AM, I'm two books and 75 extra pages worth of critical arguments into what will hopefully materialize into a topic for my poetics paper, and streaming Super XX Man as inspiration. We're a little tired and a little cranky at times, but we're making due. There's a lot of serious talking and calculating and worrying and reconfiguring around our apartment. There is also a lot of laughing and crossword puzzling and music and dancing and board gaming and snuggling for warmth. What I mean to say is, it's a balance. There are a limited number of weeks left in classes, my mother will be here at the end of those, and the closet is full of old, thrifted and gifted Christmas decorations that are begging to be taken out and draped around our home. Andrew and I are saving for the Sufjan Stevens Christmas album, with which I intend to sing along at the top of my lungs for most of December. We're celebrating this year, without money, gifts, fancy meals; we're celebrating with the whole of ourselves, with our bodies that are thankful to have made it this far, bodies that will sing and string popcorn and watch silly old Christmas movies on our old VCR. We're going to drown ourselves in the overdramatic holiday celebrations and be a little more joyful this winter. Mark my words, if it snows here near Christmas, I might just burst with little tinsel streamers.