I'm not even sure I know what Halloween is. I know it's my favorite holiday (Is it even a holiday?). It's the most honest day of the year. It's part of why people got to Burning Man. I'm sure of it. When the boy asked me to explain Burning Man to him he excitedly pleaded with me to let him go, and perhaps I will take him one year, but the idea of me getting dressed up in costumes was an enduring and exciting one for him.
I'll do that again tonight. He has enjoyed having all the scarves and beads out around the apartment. Tonight, I will put on some stockings and super-hero short-shorts with my Himalayan jacket and silk blouse. I found my white wig from a few year's back, so that'll keep me warm. Not sure how late I'll be out with a three year old, but you never know. It is best to be prepared.
Being back at home is somehow centering this time. I suppose that I have begun to settle in here. The management for the apartment complex will probably trick me into signing another year's lease. Moving here was probably a mistake for reasons I've already gone into, but moving away is an enormous undertaking, and one that will negatively impact the boy. Or, that is my assumption, anyway. I see why people buy homes. It must feel nice to always know where your problems are.
Mostly, I look at the accumulation of nonsense around me and do not wish to move it all again. Each time that I am tasked with moving then parts of me disappear.
The boy just asked me how it can possibly be Halloween when it's light outside. I told him that it'll be darker tonight when we go trick-or-treating.
The boy said, Daddy, the sun has made a mistake today.
It sure has, it wouldn't be the first time, either.
The Disillusionment of Ten O'Clock
The houses are haunted
By white night-gowns.
None are green,
Or purple with green rings,
Or green with yellow rings,
Or yellow with blue rings.
None of them are strange,
With socks of lace
And beaded ceintures.
People are not going
To dream of baboons and periwinkles.
Only, here and there, an old sailor,
Drunk and asleep in his boots,
In red weather.
- Wallace Stevens