hubba hubba

Christmas time heartbreak. Holly and tears, garlands and euphemisms, mulled wine and pining sighs. Amidst all of our own stories, annual and perennial, we acquire the comfort and extra attention that a dramatic narrative brings.

The real tragedy is finding no one to tell our special stories too. What is a friend but an archivist? And so I build a real technological attachment with a blogging site. Remember, a technological attachment is a human attachment.

For me, I drive alone and find small joys in the plump brown birds that linger in a bush by the theatre back-door. My mother, had she been with me, could have told me what kind they were.