Holy Struggle

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Holy Struggle

Waking up with a strange thought lurking in the back of one’s head is always a great way to start a new day, especially when it whispers fatefully: “What day is it?” This could mean a) that your last night has been an relaxed date with your friend J. Daniels or b) that you don’t really want to know which day the calendar is presenting you. And hell, right at this moment of unconcious certitude this paper-asshole full of numbers I’d rather forget forever presents me the 24th of December!
I’m not really sure if I should cry in great torture or if I should simply ignore the fact that my two children, who are in the best age to imitate police sirens, and my wife will present me the story of Stephen King’s “Shining” with reversed roles, that means me as crying, hysteric girl beeing hunted by my family with great pleasure because I reprpbate father forgot this great day of familiar get-together. I don’t really know why but the idea of an axe stucking in my back made me rise in panic looking for the next best pair of whatever and something that at least seemed to be clothes.
Damn, why does this ad industry start with its Christmas decoration in autmn so one becomes used to these artificial world of blinkin santas and Rudolph the Rendeer presenting his red deformed nose, humming Jingle Bells in 300 variations. Who could ever think that suddenly holy night sneaks up while one’s asleep? Why is this world so cruel? Why do I wear my wife’s dressing grown?
After having left this phase of current desorientation I somehow managed to get into the car without any more dificulties, at least I’m sitting in fron of the steering wheel. A funny jouney of jammed streets and some curses later I’m in a great Christmas-rush-mood in the middle of these bloodthirsty present hunters, who would kill me instantly for any piece of twinkling shit. Somewhere a bell knells, announcing the last hour of shopping apocalypse.
A view into the jewelery offers me a picture of horror. Desperate husbands beeing squeezed at the shop window just to please their lovly money-sucking feminine parasites. Right at the moment I’m not quite sure if I should get the presents or some heartpills.
Suddenly in a well shaped candy spender a ball with the ring to satisfy my wife creates a holy aura which imediatley catches my attention. “Come and get me!”, I hear it whispering seductively. Or is it the prostitute next to it? No time to waste on such thoughts, this ring ist my only hope. Hell, 20 bucks later the ring is mine! Mine! My precious ring! After some time I notice that people stop next to me, staring at me with expressions of confusion. Maybe I shouldn’t have rolled on the ground mumbling in a fit of great joy. So I directly get up, at least to keep a little bit dignity, and dissapear in the hustle.
In thoughts I check off the point “wife’s present” and make my to the hard part of this wonderful, lovley pain-in-the-ass-shopping-trip: the big store. Right at the entrance I have to dodge an incoming mountain of piled packages with two little legs. Accidently I must have hitten an older woman when I sidestepped because I hear my teeth shuttering as a result of her brutal handbag hitting me with terrific precision (she must have done this more than once).
Rubbing the back of my head, I stumble further into the chaotic circle of Christmas consumption. Just two more presents. I catch myself laughing hystericly right after this thought leaves my head. I only have to take a look around to realize that “just two presents” means that I first have to find my way through this valley of pure pain. Women, men, children, teenagers and masses of fat Santas everywhere… Leastwise this unendurable, never endig Christmas music accompanys me throughout the whole store. At this moment I doubt that I can ever see daylight again.
Half an hour later I’m out again, looking like a soldier who fought in both World Wars. These woodden toys in my hands were the onlye things that weren’t sold out. But I don’t care! My only intention is to get out of this Christmas hell.
After the way back home – I think I never drove so fast – I can finally relax in my favourite couch.
I hear my wife opening the door, telling me with her sirene voice: “Honey, I’m home! I saw you sleeping like a baby this morning so I drove to the store and got all the presents this time. I even got something for me, just take a look at this wonderful ring! It’s so precious!” I don’t look up, I don’t scream. My only thought at this moment is: “Where is the axe?”

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Die Seele ist eine Gabe Gottes.
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