Christmas (Archive from December 25, 2005)

I hate the end of Christmas. I don't particularly like Christmas anyway but there is nothing more depressing than when it is over. You gather up all your presents, you shuffle home with your new sweaters and earrings and Santa mugs and you come home to your dingy apartment, sans Christmas tree and mom's home cooking. It's terrible. Being a kid on Christmas morning meant the magical possibility that a strange fat man came all the way across the world to leave you a brand new Barbie. Being almost thirty on Christmas means you are sleeping on the pull-out sofa in the living room -- it means something completely different, something depressing, something altogether not-magical.