The problem with holidays is that we expect them to be something other than ordinary days. Houses and buildings are forced to fancy dress, there is colour everywhere, noise, people bustling in and out of these very buildings clutching their preparations to the crooks of their limbs, straggling and struggling, pushing and being pushed, there is overlapping music, jolly carols and gaga and no silence, no one can see the floor they walk on but we feel the rubbish rubbing against our soles, clocks under pressure tick their arms harder and faster, everywhere phones are ringing and everyone's digging in the pockets of their clothes and other clothes and bags and other bags and a finger strikes the shiny screen but it has stopped ringing, children are crying from the laps of bearded strangers, teeth are decaying and trees are dying, companies are laughing and knocking glasses, everyone's running and shouting and buzzing with the excitement and anxiousness of a million people who have no idea what they're celebrating. It's Christmas, It's Christmas!
So this is why when I come home to a family who doesn't acknowledge this mess outside our door, and I wake up to the 25th expecting to be woken by Santa himself, and to see trees adorned with glitter and tinsel, and to experience the love of giving, and to see my entire extended family before me, and I don't but instead, wake up naturally from a good night's rest and drink tea and listen to bon iver and wait for the explosion of a joyous day to ensue, I keep blinking myself awake but nothing happens so I just keep drinking my tea and wonder jasmine rice and green or chai or earl grey? So I decide one of each and write a million tiny unfinished blogs because I cannot concentrate because I am still expecting. So tell me to stop because I don't even like holidays that much except the energy, all for the energy, and I'm sure if I believed Jesus was anything other than a magnificent figment of imagination, I would be different but that's just too bad. I just want to enjoy my nothing day because I love nothing days except this isn't a nothing day. Things are good as long as they fulfil their purpose, so this day despite being perfect to me, is imperfect, so Christmas, screw you, screw you so hard for ruining my nothing day. It was meant to be a perfect nothing day.
So this is why when I come home to a family who doesn't acknowledge this mess outside our door, and I wake up to the 25th expecting to be woken by Santa himself, and to see trees adorned with glitter and tinsel, and to experience the love of giving, and to see my entire extended family before me, and I don't but instead, wake up naturally from a good night's rest and drink tea and listen to bon iver and wait for the explosion of a joyous day to ensue, I keep blinking myself awake but nothing happens so I just keep drinking my tea and wonder jasmine rice and green or chai or earl grey? So I decide one of each and write a million tiny unfinished blogs because I cannot concentrate because I am still expecting. So tell me to stop because I don't even like holidays that much except the energy, all for the energy, and I'm sure if I believed Jesus was anything other than a magnificent figment of imagination, I would be different but that's just too bad. I just want to enjoy my nothing day because I love nothing days except this isn't a nothing day. Things are good as long as they fulfil their purpose, so this day despite being perfect to me, is imperfect, so Christmas, screw you, screw you so hard for ruining my nothing day. It was meant to be a perfect nothing day.
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