I'll be whole for Christmas

I wish I could stop lying. Last night, talking to my sister, I confessed that my memory has gotten so bad that it's no longer an unusual lapse for me to make absolutely false statments--even in answer to a direct question--and not realise it for minutes, hours, or even days. For instance, not to long ago, I said in this journal that I'd never spent Christmas in Chicago. How could I possibly forget the year that bunj and e. hosted? Or say that e. was sceptical of deep-fried turkey when, actually, she loves it and it was monshu who was dubious? Or tell rollick that the single thing that could make this Christmas better would be going to Spain with bunj and e.?

It was "Buzzkill" Lockett who made me realise the falsity of that last statement, reminding me that there's, like, a war on and stuff. (If I needed more reminding, the current Ernie Alert was declared the night before I headed to the airport--to no effect as far as obvious security measures at MDW are concerned.) I should think that goes without saying--Christmas would always be better if people weren't being butchered in Congo, blowed up in Palestine, brutalised in Zimbabwe, and starved in Russia. But rollick's question was personally directed and none of this affects me on more than an abstract level.

What make me most sad this Christmas is seeing Nuphy unable to enjoy it properly. I brought him cinammon lozenges last Saturday--hard candies are the only source of variety and flavour in his otherwise purely-IV diet--and, from his reaction, you'd think it was a homemade stollen. The proper dressings he's accustomed to are backordered and he's having to put up with ineffective, leaky substitutes in the meantime. On top of all this, he'll be alone on Christmas day. His daughter is there today and his boyfriend arrives Boxing Day, so he's not the hardest luck case I know, but all he has to look forward to on the day itself is opening my $15 toilettries special.