I always feel depressed after the holidays. I don't know if it's because I'm still recovering from gorging myself with too many different meats and sweets, or if it's because i'm wallowing in the mess of the seasonal climax and had to spend all morning on my hands and knees mopping up. Thank god for Hot Toddys, without which I would simply not be able to make it through this day. We had a great feast last night, and everyone contributed his own flavor to the smörgåsbord. Julian made a scrumptious meat pie with pudding, Levar chipped in by tossing everyone's individual salad, I kept everyone well lubricated with a merlot that I made in the bathtub, and Stevan made our mouths water with his boysenberry pie finished with creme fresh. After dinner, we sat around the Yule Log and fanned the flames with our gleeful songs, while Stevan tickled the ivories. Then after a long night of cheeky parlor games, fellowship and mirth, we retired to the bedroom and played "Secret Santa." I woke up this morning feeling a bit down, and I realized that somehow the true meaning of the holiday was more of an afterthought than a focalpoint for me this year. I think I need to go deeper into its background, and see if I can't muck around for a buried treasure in the dark. I love my light-hearted interchanges with the guys -- and sometimes we go deep -- but, I need more spirituality in my life to feel good about myself again. Too many mornings I wake up and feel ashamed. I'm going to turn over a new leaf this year and shine my brightest!
-- Lance
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