Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs, page 273
Natalie and I are in the mangy TV room watching The Love Boat. We’ve dragged the wing chairs up on either side of the Christmas tree and are reaching over to pick through its branches in pursuit of any candy canes that remain. Most of them have already been eaten. By accident, Natalie stuck a plastic one in her mouth. Why Agnes insists on mixing plastic candy canes with the real ones is beyond both of us.
I should mention this to May.
Most of the needles have fallen off the tree and are carpeting the floor and have been tracked throughout the house. Everyone has brown, sharp little needles in their beds. The branches are dry and crispy and tend to snap off when you tug at them.
I absently pull at a branch until it snaps. Julie, the cruise director, suggests to a clinically depressed passenger that the aft deck is a fine place to meet new people, recover from a failed love affair, and I let the branch fall on the floor with the others.
Our lives are one endless stretch of misery punctuate by processed fast foods and the occasional crisis or amusing curiosity.
The fast that the Christmas tree is still standing five months after Christmas is extremely disturbing to everyone in the house…
Running With Scissors (Hodder, 2003, ISBN: 100733620523, 304 pages.)
My rating: ★★★★★