Today is 3 December and I’m already over Christmas. I’d pack this glittery shit right the fuck up for two cents. Santa is a capitalist concept to create debt.
Le sigh. Some years are better than others. Yesterday was misfiring brain chemistry with me—I sensed a bubbling sourness while getting dressed. But one pushes through—a feeble attempt to steer into the anxiety as one does on an icy road when losing control of the steering. On the other hand, maybe God wants one to drive off a cliff. Mental or otherwise. But I digress.
“You have many blessings and need to snap out of it” was my mantra as I ventured downtown to the department store that—as expected, was jam-packed with assorted tri-state folks sporting team hoodies and kids dangling from both arms. The women invariably walked behind their men in bad Christmas sweaters and blinking headbands that playfully mimicked reindeer antlers or old-fashioned colored lightbulbs. From an anthropological perspective the large family units very much aligned to the hunter/gatherer niche. But instead of sharpened slate spears they had charge cards at the ready.
I resented their easy frivolity as I dodged browsing shoppers in the gourmet shop. While waiting in line to pay for my selections I noted that all stations had at least one sales associate with silver hair. And that pissed me off further because I sensed they had to work versus choosing to work. I’ve worked retail at Christmastime and it is a special kind of do-you-have-a-box-and-tissue unappreciative public hellscape that no one—at any age, would actively choose.
The senior who rang me up made a flub and had to rescan everything and while I silently tasered his body into quarters with my eyes he swung ‘round and pointed to the keypad inquiring if I wished to “round up” my purchase to donate to the bippity boopity holiday drive for underprivileged cancer kittens. Or some such charity. It pissed me off even more so because I saw a TikTok about how big companies make donations—which is a write off, but then recoup the money by asking customers to contribute to the cause. And since I saw that on the internet—and we know the internet to be a trusted source of info…well, anyway—-I did round up the purchase. I’ve not gone full-tilt Scrooge. Yet.
But last night while sipping my evening cocktail I stewed on the dawning realization that I have expectations for Christmas. Today I will somehow work through that illogical consideration that Christmas ensures surprise and delight. My EXbf has been deceased for two Christmases now; it is the first Christmas without mother. And that’s not to imply that she provided any Christmas magic—not so in years—-still…it feels strange to know she’s really gone.
The holidays magnify everything that is good; they magnify everything that is bad. Not everyone can be “merry and bright” every damn day in December. But I will try. My old ghosted, tired ass will try, Tiny Tim.