Christmas is long past and it never even felt Christmassy. All I cared about was a break from work and before I knew it, it was Christmas and then it was gone. That was it and that was my “Happy Holiday”. Of course, things got a LOT better starting around New Year’s, but the season was lost. Again.
This isn’t my first Christmas crib and it probably won’t be my last, but then that’s what I normally do around here.
December is now the embodiment of innocence lost. The days I used to wait for with bated breath now mean nothing to me. In days afore, 25th November would start the warmth flowing as the month-long countdown began. I so miss the days when there was a Santa and staying awake till midnight on Christmas Eve was an ordeal, but well worth it on the off chance that I’d see the jolly dude. Childish awe, reverence and excitement bundled together to make one tingly kid. Or even waking up later at night and looking for presents that I may or may not have deserved, but nevertheless, got. So what if Santa Claus was more Mr. Christmas than Jesus? If you were naughty in one book, you were naughty in the other too!
25th November has been replaced by 30th March, as the end of the Fourth Quarter always precedes the annual appraisal. If you know you’re on Santa’s nice-list, Christmas is on 1st May, when you see the first deposit of your incremented pay. Joy to the world, baby.
Christmas is supposed to bring with it a sense of good cheer and brotherhood and kindness and glad-to-be-alive-ness along with the mandatory presents. Fine. So where does all this disappear to for the rest of the time? Christmas is not about a day, it’s about a spirit. Christmas is everyday because it IS about a sense of good cheer and brotherhood and kindness and glad-to-be-alive-ness. But I guess nobody much sees it that way. I think that’s why I miss Christmas every year. When you’re so used to seeing indifference, you don’t recognize the good stuff when it actually comes along. And then it vanishes almost as quickly as it appeared.
I’ve only been writing biographical shit lately and it’s tiresome. I need to get more upbeat. Next time.
At least this holiday season left me with one good memory. For the first time in a long time, I helped decorate the Christmas Tree. Mom and I, 1:30 in the am, listening to AC/DC and Bob Dylan, hanging sparkly stuff on the tree.
Until she started singing along to Highway to Hell. I didn’t know whether to be proud or afraid…
Merry Christmas, pricks... and goodwill to all.
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