Epiphany

January 6, 2023

Epiphany.

It being Epiphany, I knew the Christmas decorations had to come down. When I lifted my hand to do so, I was incapacitated by the strangling grief I feel every year at this prospect. Christmas is the day before the darkness needs to be reckoned with. May it last forever. I sobbed bitterly. I wrote a poem. A took a nap. I got up and dismantled the Christmas tree and packed it away without another thought. 

Having arranged my day around the arrival of the buyer for Great Meadow, I knew at the back of my brain that she wouldn’t come. And so she did not. “Dear David, my plans have changed. . . “ Why do people do that? Is it a form of self-aggrandizement to have people plan around plans which you never meant to honor?  I fall for it every time– I suppose because I have never reneged or failed to show up at the appointed time regardless of circumstance, regardless of the inconvenience or cost to me. Thus I know it can be done. Each occasion is a demonstration of contempt I don’t believe I’ve earned. “But, circumstances change! There was traffic! I was running late! My cat was making funny sounds!” The only truth is “something else was more important to me.” Here it is Epiphany and my two overwhelming emotions have been grief and disgust. Is that what I’ll find this year? 

I wish I had my Christmas tree back. When I go downstairs it will be bare and dark. There will be nothing good on TV. 

Fifty-four years ago tonight I wrote the first entry in this journal. In my dark room in Gray Dorm.