This year christmas happens only out of habit.
I am in the sort of house that makes you look through all the cupboards and drawers
before you find what you're looking for: a bowl. And Sting gets stuck in your head.
The style of the silverware makes my hands feel unfamiliar to my body.
I am drinking my lukewarm morning coffee from an orange plastic kiddy cup
because, in the house, the idea of ceramic dishware seems campy.
I am having my cereal out of the same
because i couldn't find a bowl.