It’s all been like a waking dream lately.  

My sister stalks rainbows cast by the morning light.  She leaves a path of gummy bears in her wake; we’re still finding them hidden in flower pots and perched on bookshelves.  

In mid-December, we run shirtless through the streets, laughing and shielding our eyes from the sun’s glare.  I blink, and suddenly I’m holed up in my closet surrounded by candles, Swedish fish, and books, riding out a tornado and thunderstorm that vanishes almost as quickly as it crept up on us.  

The full moon rises, and vampires, outfitted in black velvet, stalk the night.  I am not afraid but always wary, as you must be with all creatures of the night.  We all drink too much coffee, which does nothing to make me more awake.  Even the most action-packed of moments make me feel sleepy and ready to settle in for hibernation.  

Bruises dapple my skin, origins unknown.  Where do they come from and why won’t they go away?  

It will be January soon and a brand new year; it means new beginnings and a chance to reboot.  Except that every single day has been a blank slate, and I’ve been scribbling quite furiously.  Holidaze indeed.