It’s the saddest day of the year
The day after Christmas, it’s here.
Besides wet socks, there’s nothing worse
Then when Christmas is over, it makes me want to curse.
So how does one deal with day-after doldrums?
Where does one go to escape the inevitable ho-hums?
You could go to the store and purchase some comics.
Or, perhaps the beach will provide a setting for some soul-ergonomics.
You could eat a smorgasbord of food with seasoning and spice.
Or maybe a donation to the local homeless man would be nice.
You could go play at the park, take a ride on the swing.
Or a trip to the antique mall may be just the thing.
You could chase around joggers or bicyclists in your car,
But that’s pretty creepy, I don’t care who you are.
You could watch Maury Povich reveal you ain’t the daddy to that brat.
Or you could veg on the couch and pet some random cat.
After all of this, if your depression does continue,
I would suggest something simple at a local venue.
For the best cure I’ve found,
Of those Day-After-Christmas blues that are going around…
Is to stop complaining, no longer should you roam,
And find your way back, to the place you call home.
The Not So Fantastic Reality:
The above story was inspired by the following tidbits I encountered today:
ONE: What an… interesting day I had today, yeah we’ll go with interesting. I tagged along with Andy as he drove up I-85 to film some footage for the lead singer of a punk band he’s creating some videos for. Now normally, the day after Christmas can be a huge let down for me, all that anticipation and merriment and BOOM! The 26th hits and it’s all suddenly gone; but today, the shear amount of randomness of my day prevented any such thoughts from entering my head. All of the scenarios above… happened (in some shape or form) and to be honest I’m still recovering from the whirlwind of irrationality of this day. One hour I’m eating shrimp & grits, the next I’m watching two bums race on broomsticks around a gravel yard. One hour I’m in an antiques mall, the next I’m watching weave fly on Jerry Springer while a cat is sleeping in my lap. Thankfully the madness came to a somewhat normal end, a steak dinner and some non-reality TV. Whew.
Love & Squirrels.