There are worse places to spend the last day of the year than the United Club at Cleveland Airport. I ended up here after being willfully bumped from my original flight in favor of a direct flight and a $300 voucher. My father (conveniently) gave me a pass for the United Club a couple days ago, and at the time I never thought I’d use it, and yet here I am — enjoying the free shit and the relative calm while I wait for my next flight. I need to become a member of this club — I’d get to the airport early just so I could enjoy the complimentary everything.
My Christmas vacation went fast, as it always does — not sure why I’m still surprised by this. It was a rather indistinct Christmas, with the exception of the lots of snow that fell on the 26th and the 29th. There was about a foot on the ground when I left, which is more snow than I’ve seen in a long time. It’s always good to see friends and family, but it always seems so brief — so fast, to continue a theme.
Tomorrow will be a new year, and while this year was not a bad year at all, I’ve got a good feeling about 2013 (in spite of its unlucky moniker), and I hope I can find the magic within the next 365 days.
Speaking of magic, the man sitting behind me is telling his wife about Brad Pitt & Angelina Jolie’s engagement — he seems to be reading from a copy of US Weekly, and both he and his wife seem very interested. You don’t think people care about things like this until you hear people caring about things like this in the United Club at Cleveland Airport.
Happy New Year, people.
It seems somehow appropriate that I am sick on Christmas Eve, as I avoided illness (for the most part) fairly well in 2012. I’m sure I was sick at some point, but it clearly wasn’t significant as it hasn’t been remembered. Being sick on Christmas, though, that’s hard to forget. Yay.
I remember being sick on Christmas when I was a kid. I think I was really sick, as I remember being in the car on the way to my aunt and uncle’s house and having the feeling that my hands were inflated like balloons (an unpleasant feeling I remember having often when I was sick as a child). I don’t remember anything else about the day, but the memory of sitting in the back seat of the car as it drove down Basset Road is palpable.
Which is, really, how we remember most of our lives — distinct fragments amongst a lot of blur.
It often feels like the best Christmases are in the past, but — really — it often feels like the best everything is in the past, and that can’t possibly be true. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that the moments of true happiness are the ones that I’m not comparing to the past because I’m too distracted by the present to think about it. They don’t come very often, particularly when you’re holding on as tightly as I have been lately, but they do come, and they give me the perspective I wish I always had.
If I’m still sick when I wake up tomorrow I will likely remember this Christmas for being sick, which is not ideal, but I guess it’s better than not remembering at all.
If that makes any sense.
Merry Christmas, you.
About two years since being accepted into Sundance, After You Left is now online for all to see. I watched it again recently, after not having watched it for about a year, and I enjoyed it more than I imagined I would, although the poignancy remains.