It's official: I'm sick as a dog. Blame it on my little brother.

I decided to forgo extra rest tonight and instead attend the Fort Wayne Komets ice hockey game with my aunt and cousins. My mom and I really got a kick out of the hypocrisy of the Hoosiers in attendance: Every goal the Komets scored was followed by three chants of "YOU SUCK!" and then a "WE'RE GONNA BEAT THE HELL OUTTA YOU!" The telecaster displayed show dates for Gun and Knife Expos, "Exhaust World" (whatever that means, I'll assume it's some sort of auto supply provider) and midget car races. The overwhelmingly obese family in front of us scarfed down 5 scoops of icecream apiece, and then moved on to the cheese sticks and beer in the third period. My dad couldn't stop leaning over to us and laughing about how the gun show and bridal auction were being held the same weekend; that these pious, simple folk would cheer tirelessly for the players to kick the shit out of each other on the ice. It never got old.   ¶ 22:59

  So, this week, I've watched my aunt make a jello mold, helped clear dozens of dishes, listened about the good ol days, have acquired hard evidence that malls are indeed a lower circle of hell, read Grisham's "Skipping Christmas" (hey, the IU game was on and I had no interest in watching, while the rest of the house was glued to two sets), slept in, attended Church, and, well, done that whole midwestern thang. Fort Wayne has a nickname something like the Church capital of the world, and I certainly see why - this place is a methodist haven. We hold hands and pray at every dinner and talk about how every day activities can become sin during dessert. I see in my grandparent's eyes the disappointment they have for my father's move-to-California, grow-a-beard, hike-on-Sundays-rather-than-worship lifestyle. Regardless, there is so much love here that he's willing to say his "amens" and pull on a sweater for the 9 o'clock service; I was a bit dissapointed though that I had to shush my mom and dad a few times during the sermon and offering when they started cracking jokes between themselves. Kids these days.

Christmas eve is upon us all, and I am sick to death of this season. Perhaps its the travelling that I've done, the money I've spent, the planning that's been involved in getting us to Indiana that began in September. I wouldn't mind tearing down all of the inflatable Grinches and Frosties that sit plump and happy on everyone's lawn, and send every last snowflake, reindeer, or Santa sweater to the incinerator. But don't worry, I'm still merry.

I think I'm getting sick. Time for bed.  ¶ 23:46