DUCK AND COVER: HELIAND'S EPIPHANY AND VERBAL KATANA

It's Epiphany.

I have always known that there are Twelve Days of Christmas -- many of us learned the song as children, and, despite exhaustive singings of it, still cannot remember the exact items post eight maids-a-milking.  Each item has a religious significance, as well as just being downright fun.  Seriously.  Who wouldn't want five new gold rings, eight days in a row?

I could retire on that shit.

I want to start a tradition of celebrating the Twelve Days of Christmas, either with gifts or with food (or with wine, because, hey, why not), so I start the research and soon discover that many of these Twelve Days are not necessarily celebrations.  Some of these days are hideously dark and sinister.

I struggle with this reality for a bit because I am loosely UCC Protestant, borderline Agnostic, and deeply connected to my childish Christmas fantasies of light and love and laughter.  But, the truth is it's impossible to have Epiphany without adversity.

As 2018 closes and 2019 starts, I have my own epiphany.

For most of my life people have said to me and about me that I speak whatever comes to my mind.  Folks, that is NOT true.  I actually only speak about half -- probably more like a third -- of what pops into my head.  If people knew the totality and the reality of what's truly going on in my brain, I'd get punched in the face.  A lot.  A whole lot.

Believe it or not (many of you will be disbelievers, and this is your final warning), my epiphany is that I may speak up about many issues and problems (I am The Champion of Underdog and Others), but I rarely speak up for myself.  I often will think of an amazing comeback or cutting response to something twelve minutes, twelve hours, or even twelve days after the fact.

Worse than that, sometimes I am so shocked by something said about me, said to me, or done to me, that I miss my perfect opportunity to react because my mind is completely blockaded with the struggle all intelligent, polite people go through under such conditions; the "WAIT -- IS THIS REALLY HAPPENING TO ME RIGHT NOW?!" response.

It's kind of like those few moments when your mind sees an accident and starts calculating severity while debating, albeit rapidly, whether or not to dial 9-1-1.  Speaking of 9-1-1, folks -- this is your ONLY warning: I am training my mouth to work as fast as my brain, and my brain to work as fast as my mouth.

In other words, I am walking around with a proverbial longsword (probably basket-hilted so I don't drop it accidentally).  I'm still not completely adept with it.  In three days I lopped off three heads -- two at the gas company and one at work -- and I made quick and bloodless business out of all three.  However, one lopping took me twenty-four hours to execute, and now I am beating myself up for not doing it publicly.  (To my victim -- you're welcome.)

Of course, my past training has served me well: berating people who don't acknowledge good deeds with a blatant "You're WELCOME" as I'm being ignored, or shooting the car's high beams back at ignorant offenders coming the other way, or rolling my eyes at ridiculously unprofessional commentary at meetings and conferences (for which I will no longer apologize nor play dumb).

I will, however, continue to practice my verbal sword-wielding skills.  I may accidentally lop off undeserving limbs of both my opponents and/or myself because, at my age, I'm not as spry as I used to be.  The best thing about Verbal Katana, though, is that eventually most of the limbs regenerate -- possibly deformed or possibly rejuvenated correctly, maybe even improved.

Rarely is a verbal assault of my level actually deadly.  However, I guarantee I will leave scars -- my own, yes, but, more importantly, yours.  You've been warned, 2019.  I'm out for blood, and the very second I see it, hear it, feel it, taste it, smell it, or sense it, I WILL CUT YOUR HEAD OFF AT THE JUGULAR.