Wasteland.

You look off your balcony at Luxurious Five-Star Hotel, and are gifted with a never-ending, blue ocean, and a complimentarily vast, blue sky. You call room service and demand that caviar be brought to your room, immediately. You mistreat the waiter who is unfortunate enough to serve you.

I look off my balcony and am treated to grass over-run with weeds, and a bleak sky. I call Mother and ask her to buy a Frozen Pizza for dinner. She mistreats me for making such a ridiculous request.

You check out and mistreat the receptionist as you do so. You insult the maid unlucky enough to clean up after you. You get in to your idling Rolls Royce and depart to your Private Jet at Urban Airport.

I pack my meagre Belongings and am ferried away by the State-Owned Vehicle, to another house, another family. I turn and look out the back window in despair as I watch the House I Loved disappear around the corner. I wonder what the next family will be like.

You arrive back Home just in time for Christmas Dinner. You greet numerous Loved Ones and regale them with tales of your trip over an Extravagant Dinner. You chastise them for not being genuinely interested in your mistreatment of the hotel staff.

I arrive at a New Home – a “Handyman’s Dream” – greeted by no-one. I am briefly toured by New Family around the house, shown to My Room and left to My Own Devices. I unpack my few Possessions, and am called down to Kitchen for Dinner - a no-fuss, Frozen Dinner is placed in front of me, and I eat with joy – it is the best meal I’ve had in months.

You exchange Lavish Gifts with your Family and Friends, and feel insulted if somebody spends less than Three Hundred Dollars on your Most-Important Gift. You encapsulate the night in your laughter and wonder how some people can be so Depressed during Christmas.

I receive a Christmas Beating from New Brother – appreciating that New Drunk Father didn’t join in. I go to Bed, remembering that I always sleep best in My Own Bed. I Toss and Turn, surrounding the night in my wailing. I contemplate Suicide for the umpteenth time, wondering if I will Live to see a Better Family.

You express False Amazement at your Children’s stories. You kiss them goodnight and retire to Your Own Bed, sleeping at length. You look forward to your family’s Boxing Day Traditions.

I sleep in Short Bursts, and fear Awaking tomorrow, scared of what may come.

You wake up, Well Rested, ready to Take On The World.
I don’t wake.