Monday, December 30, 2013

The Pain of Christmas



Irrelivant to this article but I had to show you my new dog! Will be writing about her soon :)


I hate Christmas.  For some reason whenever I share this with someone they gasp in horror and make the sign of the cross, but I do.  I hate it.  I do not hate my family.  Or eating.  But those pleasures can be partaken in without the colossal level of fuss that must be made in the lead up to December 25th.  

I feel ambushed by the blaring advertising that begins around August and ramps up from there.  I could be happily watching the TV or reading the paper when my anxiety is suddenly and cruelly tweaked by the reminder that YOU NEED TO BUY YOUR LOVED ONE THIS JUICE MACHINE THAT YOU CAN’T AFFORD AND YOU’RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME DAMMIT.  The anxiety then mixes itself in with guilt and self-berating in a poisonous mental cocktail.  You don’t have the juice machine.  Can’t afford the juice machine.  Could afford it if you didn’t spend so much on yourself.  Are just making excuses because you don’t want to endure the depravity of Highpoint Shopping Town.         

Which brings me to Highpoint Shopping Town.  I live near there but I really really hate that place.  And places of that nature.  They stink of everything that is wrong with humanity.  And of sweaty boys because there are heaps of them hanging around in their uniforms trying to communicate with the pubescent girls.  I find it wholly depressing that our number one Holiday Destination is an emporium dedicated unapologetically to the art of consumerism.  It brings on a peculiar kind of sadness traipsing around the isles trying to get inspired to shop.  A feeling of emptiness and of being lost because that place is a fucking maze.  Then once you’ve finally bought the bloody juice machine you’ve got to walk like ten K’s back to your car in the searing heat and you always forget to put the silver car insulating thingy up.   
    
My relatives are all really nice but they like to have Christmas where they live, on the Mornington Peninsula.  To get to the Morning Peninsula you need a car, and to get back in that car you need to not be drunk.  And what is Christmas without getting drunk?  Last Christmas we were considering staying over at someone’s place, but the host’s house was full, as was my Auntie’s near by place, unless we had a tent.  Did we have a tent?  

If you like to be sane, you should really have a list of Christmas presents that require purchasing, and that list should be gradually accounted for throughout the preceding months.  I apparently do not like to be sane, because I inevitably find myself sprinting around in a crazed rage on December 24th, screaming at Tom on the phone to ‘TAKE THAT ONE BACK! IT’S THE LEMON SCENTED CANDLE THAT YOU’RE GETTING YOU GOOD FOR NOTHING LOUT!’ while pushing some elderly person out of the way to get to the I-lost-my-leg-but-not-my-lust-for-life book for mum.  

I also am not a fan of the whole overly PC let’s-be-sensitive-to-non-Christians-thing.  The holiday is called Christmas.  I’m pretty sure Muslim people are aware of this and are suitably non-offended as to be able to survive the occasion.  You refraining from saying ‘Merry Christmas’ to them and instead saying, while you pat yourself on the back, ‘Happy Holidays’, is akin to them dreaming up some euphemistic greeting to mask the offensiveness of Eid Al-Fitr.  Redundant and kind of patronizing.      

I am not noble enough to provide a theoretical argument to justify my complaining.  You know, ‘Christmas isn’t about love and Christ anymore it’s just one big exercise in consumerism and greed’- that kind of thing.  I don’t really mind what it’s about.  I just mind that it stresses me the feck out and is a major anxiety trigger.  New Years, on the other hand, New Years I like.  All you have to do come December 31st is take your brand new Mastiff puppy to Edinborough Gardens and drink shit loads of Champagne.  At least, that’s all I’m planning on doing.  Happy New Year everyone and thankyou so much for supporting me this year!  Katie xxx     

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