Why am I so cold? Is it because of racism? Is it because of the coldness of how we treated the Native Americans? Or is it because there is a snow storm outside and I accidentally broke the heater while imitating a Native American tribal dance?
Why is it so warm? Is it because of a feeling of love and kinship for my fellow man, or is it because the broken heater has now started a fire and I am trapped in my bedroom with the flames licking at me?
Why do I feel so much pain? Is it emotional pain? Is it the pain I feel for the men and women trapped in the middle of the conflict in the middle east? Or is it because I had to jump through the window of my home and onto the cold hard ground below to avoid being burned to death?
Why am I so sad? Is it because of freedom, or the North Korean’s lack thereof? Or is it because I just remembered my Uncle Henry was asleep inside when I started the fire?
Where are those sirens coming from? Are they sirens of the mind, criticizing consumerist culture? Or are they sirens from the police and ambulances that are now coming down the street?
Where are those screams coming from? From the people screaming at the establishment? Or from the ambulance and police car that slid on the icy roads and crashed into the McAllistors house?
Yep, that was the best Christmas ever.