The Lineage of Drunk Santa

Metaphorical Narrative

Years ago, people tried to deliver things to me while standing on the wrong street, wrong address — convinced that close enough was good enough.

And now, the pattern repeats. A Drunk Santa staggers in, drops my candy at the wrong chimney, convinces an innocent neighbor it’s theirs, and even takes a photo as “proof.” The system calls it delivered. My hands stay empty.

The fury rises. Not only at the missing candy, but at the insult: proof of failure paraded as proof of success. This isn’t one man, this is a species — a lineage of carelessness I’ve crossed paths with for years.

That’s when the Angry Chicken arrives. Small, underestimated, relentless. Peck after peck, it fights Drunk Santa for me. My fury is no longer weight inside me. It’s a force outside, flapping and clawing until justice is restored.

And in the strangest twist, a neighbor — dragged into the mess without asking — becomes the one to return what was wrongly taken. In one scene I meet them all: the faker, the absorber, the restorer. Parallel lives, colliding.

Core Insight

The loss isn’t only the candy. It’s the meta-loss — the time stolen, the backup plans built, the weirdness of canceling them once the candy finally arrives.

But here’s the deeper truth: fury is not shame. Fury is reclamation. Feeling the full spectrum — loss, anger, humor, reclamation — frees me from carrying what was never mine to hold.

Saturday Experiment

1. Name the lineage. Where has “wrong street, wrong address” shown up before in their life?
2. Spot the parallels. Who in their week plays Drunk Santa, who absorbs the loss, who restores what wasn’t theirs to fix?
3. Write the decree. Candy is mine. Fury is mine. Loss and meta-loss are not mine.

Sunday Reflection

• What lineage of “Drunk Santas” have they uncovered in their past?
• How did it feel to unleash their own Angry Chicken this week?
• What happens inside when they cancel meta-loss without guilt?