On December 28th, I stabbed this note into my phone:

“At least when you write, when something horrifyingly disappointing happens it holds some value in life currency - the chance to share and see if anybody else out there has f-cked up so royally.”

I KNOW my kid still sh-ts herself. I UNDERSTAND she doesn't comprehend the historical and magical time of year that is Christmas. I realized, despite everybody's kind advice, that I DON'T CARE.

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