I’m not feeling it.
I know, I type this every year, but jeez why is it Christmas again? Maybe my internal calendar is off because it feels like . . . March to me.
I sometimes have these fantasies of getting on a plane bound for somewhere that doesn’t care that it’s Christmas. I’m not really sure where that would be, but someplace like Africa or somewhere else with a lot of grass and big trees. Maybe like in Out of Africa, the movie. Yes, I want to go there, wear linen, and make tea.
It’s not that I don’t love the people in my life, I do. It’s just that I don’t love them any more in December.
I like buying them things when I want to, when it strikes my fancy. Not because there’s some countdown and I’m obligated by— I don’t know what—to get things. It’s not that I even buy a lot of stuff because I’m allergic to actual shopping. But the whole thing is silly and I’d like to go to Africa instead.
Do they celebrate Christmas there? I hope not. They have all of those beautiful animals, surely they have better things to do, right?
Maybe if I were religious this whole thing would make more sense. You know if I was all about Jesus being born and filling myself with that goodness, but I’m still not sure how that would translate to Christmas lists and presents.
I think I would like Christmas if I could sit on safari and maybe exchange one gift, something really cool, maybe even handmade. I don’t know how to make anything, but that would be nice. A fire, my family and some elephants or big cats. Maybe we could make a stew or something that requires little clean up while we’re at it.
It’s only December 8th there’s time for me to get all merry and bright, but as my daughter would say, “it’s a struggle bus” every year for me to haul out the holly. I’m not a grinch, I just don’t see the point. I spend time with my family. Sometimes we even sing or drink, and we always eat. Can’t it just be Christmas all year? Then it wouldn’t feel so . . . itchy wool turtleneck.
Christmas is too much and somehow never enough. At least that’s where I’m at right now.
We did survive the Christmas picture this year, so that’s something.
My thoughts from the laundry room. Long Winter’s Nap.