There is a sort of unidentified gravitational pull that gains strength this time during the year. Energized by the spirit of Christmas past, this black-hole force almost resembles the Sedona Vortex, which seems to have oddly enough re-located itself in our collective consciousness.
An unexpected Christmas card here; a strange e-mail here, or there at work, or yikes, there on your blackberry; a gift perhaps; a message from a friend…of your mother’s or–strangely—of your aunt’s; the worst—a telephone call—or even worse—a surprise appearance at the party you always attend.
Yes, folks, I’m talking about the Yuletide Debris, the uncanny re-emergence of former beaus, lovers, friends, and, well, f-buddies of the past that paralyze us all in our attempts to make old acquaintances be forgotten—and f**king dead.
I thought it was just me; like the Christmas cards that come in the mail, somehow, with karmic timing, I inevitably get an update about an ex and/or I get unexpectedly slimed by a former friend who WON’T GO AWAY. The most recent example manifested itself in a holiday greeting in which the perpetrator in question suggested that one of my children was fat. I kid you not. Hence, this person IS not a friend and thus I must make sure my virtual electric fence is on HIGH to brace myself against the shock waves of Yuletide debris.
Even the great IC of Presidential Politics, I’m told, had to deal with some trash coming out of his bag; Femme Fatale reports that a former ex has attempted to do her interpretation of Dickens’ ghost of IC’s Christmas trash. Poor IC; whatever will we do should he get really slimed during this intense caucus season?
So the questions are: What do we do with Yuletide Debris? How do we avoid the awful practice of taking it in—which I have foolishly done before—to re-gift for another episode of more of the same? What are your strategies to deflect the shock waves, the cries from the past, the yearning to reach out across the great divides of time, space, and conflict? Do you fight back like a Jedi Knight who understands the flow of the force, or do you succumb like a cowardly muggle?
I say the heck with the mistletoe—get out the garlic, the holy water, the strange little lady from Poltergeist to keep YOUR Yuletide debris back on the curb where IT BELONGS.