somewhere in the 70's i declared december to be "therapy month" with considerable support from my therapy support network. december is trauma month in the kiddie whorehouses. in the 80's, it was proving to be nearly as traumatic for my young children as i staggered from ptsd flashback to ptsd flashback. in the 80's i didn't even have a name for those flashbacks. i was "jpc." just plain crazy. therapy month proved effective. by the turn of the millennium i had healed far enough to roll with the yule tide madness and even participate some.

fast forward to 2018 when my gk's were seized into protective custody and placed with the mother's parents. the romantic duo was pregnant with their third child who was born into protective custody. the maternal grand parents were the closest relatives, but highly dysfunctional and living in a seriously bad neighborhood. i was living in another state. hubs was living with our violent adult son. that year, a flashy cristmas sounded medicinal for the two elder children, then 6 and 3 years old. ditto for 2019 after protective custody had shifted to hubs and i, a three hour drive away from the violent adult son, and shortly after the loss of both parents in a car accident. double so for 2020/21 in the midst of the now seemingly forgotten covidic madness.

here in 2024 i am beginning to feel like one of the capitalist pigs who flood the commercial centers in search of instant gratification. instant redemption? dunno. not sure what i'm reaching for here. just reaching.