nawl

Last night I felt the hours creeping away as I lay in bed unable to sleep.

It's so quiet here. After everyone had gone to bed and the presents were arranged under the tree, the silence rang and roared in my ears, broken only by the distant ticking of a clock outside my room. I never hear that silence in Berkeley. There must be constant din that fills it that I've grown unconsciously accustomed to: faraway cars, perhaps, the refrigerators downstairs, the ice machine, the heaters, the fans, the sirens, the music of neighboring Ridgelings, the delivery trucks in the mornings, the creak of feet walking down the hall by my door.

Here it is just quiet.

It is a strange experience coming home to a home that doesn't feel like home anymore. Everything is so festive. One forgets about holidays and family, matching sets of Christmas-themed dinnerware, and the experience of walking across the floor barefoot without your feet turning black.

We opened presents in the morning, and ate breakfast together, and then lots of family came over. I spent Christmas eve with one part of the family, Christmas day with another, and soon we'll be off to another set for further celebration.