Morrison says I have a Christmas demon living inside of me that emerges around the holidays and feeds off lights and joy and wrapping paper and fudge and fresh rolls of scotch tape and the soft tissue around old ornaments and tying bows around candy canes and velour dresses, demon that sleeps deep and wakes early to make hot chocolate and hide things. I REALLY don’t know what he’s talking about and the fact that today I smelled cinnamon and suddenly felt a surge of a maniacal joy and my inner monologue turned to AHHHHH IT’S ALMOST SEPTEMBER WHICH IS ALMOST OCTOBER WHICH IS ALMOST NOVEMBER WHICH IS ALMOST DECEMBER WHICH IS ALMOST CHRISTMAS IS REALLY NOT INDICATIVE OF ANY SORT OF DEMON QUALITY NOT AT ALL WHERE IS THE TREE.

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