Sunday, December 11, 2011

Just call me Ebbie Scrooge.

I used to adore Christmas. I have many, many fond memories from the holidays growing up. My memories are almost idyll, which is ironic because how often does that happen in real life? I mean, not every Christmas was perfect, of course. There was the year when everyone in the family was sick. Then there there was the year that my brother was two or three, and was so excited to see all the presents that he just started opening ALL of them. But they're still sweet memories. Every Christmas Eve, we'd have cookies and hot chocolate under the tree. Of course, when I was little I thought we were supposed to literally be under the tree to consume them and would scootch my little legs and hiney under as far as I could.

Yeah, good memories.

Now, I couldn't care less about the holiday. I'll pull it together in the end... I always do. And I'd really like to feel more "in the spirit." I just can't get there anymore. Don't get me wrong - I love to see all of the lights, and there's nothing prettier than a dark room with a lit tree.

But yeah... don't really care anymore.

All this rushing and scrambling for one day of intensity that's over almost before it began. The push for rampant consumerism takes any positive meaning away from the day and just leaves a sour taste behind. There is no perfect gift, and if there was I highly doubt anyone would find it at Wallyworld.

So, eventually I'll get off my bum and go out and buy things for the significantly smaller family with whom I now spend the holiday. I'll go up to my Mum's on Christmas Eve, bum around. Open presents on Christmas Day and eat a lot before heading back, as I have to work on the 26th.

How I wish I could get back into the spirit. It would be so nice to find meaning to this holiday again.

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