When Does Christmas Come?

This year I went to work every day. I sleep very little at night because I have trouble sleeping much. When it gets late in the evening and my eyes start to feel tired, I decide to lie down in bed, and when I embrace my colorful fabric pillow, I feel good. But if I don't set my alarm, my body clock figures out by my heartbeat and my body heat what time I need to wake up—right at three in the morning when I have to go to the bathroom. Then I think: when will we see each other next time? I know the way to Sacrofano. I realized it's a beautiful place I've never seen, but the main thing is the chance to see each other, and the surprise element is strong if they don't tell me who's going to be there, and that gets tested. Time will surely pass quickly, and there's the seriousness of coming back and then waiting for the little Christmas house. I think I have to wait for the evening of a Saturday or a Sunday. When Christmas comes I'm happy. Not knowing how the year will end, I'm satisfied if I win at tombola, checking the numbers on my card. And then at Christmas I like to decorate the tree with colored ornaments and with hopes for the year to come, and then the dinner and the nativity scene, the Fede e Luce songs—I don't know who wrote them, but since they're part of our repertoire we always sing them, even at camp. And the beautiful thing is having gifts. Maybe I know what I need to be happy: a woman, or the friends who aren't there, without forgetting anyone, the saints in paradise and Jesus and Mary and God who protect us from up there. But I live on my own, waiting for the happiness I have never found in my life.