Ghost of Christmas Past

as of the instant, i have no title for this particular post. for some reason unknown to me, at times things such as that bother me. it's as if i need some things wrapped nicely in a tight package. i did not say it had to be a pretty package, nor pretty wrapping, but a wrapped package nonetheless. its confusing, for i enjoy spontaneity and the excitement of an unforeseen ending. so why in some cases, do i prefer such uniformity? reflecting on that answer, while listening to Hallelujah--a fantastically metaphorical ballad--, i can only think of how i feel when i experience the ecstasy of the unknown. the unknown is so treacherous, and yet inviting. come...if you dare. but some possible endings are just too scary. unbearable, rendering all joy, joyless. yes. joy can exist and then be stripped from its core, discarded along with the tears of a "something happened between your father and i a while back but you are still not mature enough to handle it" or a "i might have cancer." nice packages in these times are necessary to remain any type of sane. not knowing in these times can be more horrific than the truth. the mind flutters to every maybe that could cause grief, disdain, terror, without consideration to probability. then as all the facts start becoming clear, a paradox plays out. the package starts to be boxed, wrapped, tied with twine, and yet the box is being opened to reveal its nastiness. and only when its lying in your hands, the remains a mess of christmas past, staring into the monster's face, you deny it. all of those bloodcurdling possibilities you had predicted seem impossible, including the dreadful truth. see, wouldnt a nice little package have been nice? no managing with the wait for wrapping, then unwrapping the reality that cages you. it starts out a package, you open it, you deny it, you deal with it. no mind-screwing yourself every which-way to make some sense of something you have no information about. i really have no clue where i was going with all of this, and even now arriving at my destination, i dont know how i got here. i dont know if anything makes sense. but...its just an inkblot. so for this title. i think packages may sound too suggesting. how about...