This year is one of the most contented holiday seasons for me as an adult. I’m not scrambling to buy just the right presents. I’m not stretching to decorate a Christmas tree. I’m not fumbling with (much) wrapping paper. I’m not sweating in the kitchen. I’m not getting writers cramp from sending innumerable Christmas cards. But I’m not a Scrooge and I’m not melancholy.

I’ve learned that when I live unencumbered by convention and the burdensome, vain complexities of modern life, then I’ve made emotional space into which peace and happiness can fill.

I’m sad for Marcel, though I didn’t know him, because he represents so many people who I have known throughout my life. I’m also sad to read of your time of rejection and depression. Losing your appetite for food is a metaphor for losing your appetite for life. Food nor life can be forced upon you.

Hunger returned for you Cass and I hope appetite was satiated for Marcel, but I can’t help but to wonder whether the important difference between you and Marcel was that you have emotional fortitude, personal philosophy and an ability to reinvent yourself that he and many others lack. In other words you’ve got some very big balls and a very big heart. Thank you for sharing a part of yourself in these blogs.

I wish you a merry Christmas and a Happy New Year in which you may find a perfect balance of self love and selfless love.

*HUGs* n xoxo,
Brian
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Brian. To be honest, I don’t know how much longer I’ll “work” as Cassandra. But I promise you this: if you’re ever in SF, me and you will have a drink. We’ll smoke weed, do lines. Whatever you feel. Just Cass and you. You make me feel worthy to be a writer. Mean it. Holding hands, warm embrace — C