He knows when you are sleeping…
One sleep till Christmas and I’ve never cared less.
Well that’s just plain not true. As indifference gives way to mindless rage I find I do care, I do mind. I do, as it turns out, have an emotional investment in this our most soul-destroying of celebrations.
Because I now officially hate Christmas.
For my money Ebenezer and the Grinch had the right of it, and probably could have achieved great things if they had have been left unhindered by emotional blackmail and insipid children. They were stopped too soon. Like Hitler. I’m sure he was going somewhere with all that war and what have you (before you start I’m part Jewish, admittedly very distantly but Jewish none the less, so let’s just not).
What I’m trying to say is: fuck you, Santa.
There.
I said it.
What are you going to do? Huh? Whatcha gonna do? Didn’t think so.
Okay crazy man, drop the rotting seagull and stop doing that to the life-size cut-out of B. Arthur. That chick is hot. I’m tired and a little disoriented, but I think I’m hiding it well.
I am serious about this though, or something close to it. Obfuscatory belligerence aside I’m not sure what Christmas is actually for anymore. The obligatory disillusionment of adulthood - that inevitable and crushing loss of childlike wonder mostly brought about, I believe, by having to be part of the solution rather than the problem - is a real festive show stopper.
So I’m blogging in what is certainly not my finest hour, and am incoherent because I’m tired and frustrated. I’m sick of Christmas before it’s happened and I don’t expect it to get any better, but worst of all I hate that I hate Christmas. My childhood Christmas’ were winterless wonderlands, full of love and enchantment. But Christmas is one of those things that other people are meant to make happen. I want to know what threshold it is I crossed that left me shopping for Christmas ham, that has me giving more than I receive, that makes me honestly more concerned about cleaning up after Christmas than enjoying it while it happens. I want to know what it is that, in short, made Christmas stop being fun. When did I become this person?
This is not my beautiful house.
Post Script
Hurrah and hurrah again to Peter Carey. I just finished reading Theft: A Love Story which so far is the worst book of his I’ve read by far, and I still loved it. Hurrah.
Ow. What’s this? I think a chunk of my soul just froze and fell off. (I sympathise, and will second your “fuck you, Santa” out of solidarity.)
Comment by merc — December 25, 2007 @ 5:15 am
Viva la resistance! And I don’t know about Auckland, but here in Perth I’d describe the desturction of my soul as more of a molten searing. The whole scorching-summer thing doesn’t add to Christmas’ appeal.
Comment by James — December 26, 2007 @ 6:33 pm
I’m running severely low on hurrahs. You should like, post some. (I finished reading Tess a while ago. I must say I don’t think Angel wasn’t that much of a bastard. Hypocritical, but not a Heathcliff or Casaubon. Sorry, I’ll stop posting book reviews in your comments section now.) Updaaaaaaaate!
Comment by merc — April 10, 2008 @ 3:59 am
He had an affair, she forgives him, she was raped and he replies “You were one person; now you are another. My God–how can forgiveness meet such a grotesque–prestidigitation as that!”. We forgive poeple for being raped? Or more to the point, we withhold forgiveness? Utter bastard.
Comment by James — April 13, 2008 @ 11:15 am
Ok, he’s a bastard. But. BUT. He didn’t set out to wound and manipulate people or derive happiness from others’ suffering. He didn’t intentionally take from others to benefit himself. (That kind of selfishness is the key criterion for “bastard” for me.) He was raised in a heavily religious household and with the contradictions and hypocrisies of the age. His reaction was reflective of the influence of all of that, not just a personal small-mindedness. If he’d grown up in our time, he’d have been one of the most earnest and pure-hearted people around. And he was. But not as much as Tess.
Comment by merc — April 14, 2008 @ 4:12 pm
I tried this code in my Joomla component. But I got an error message saying “Could not instantiate mail function”.
Comment by air force 1 — February 4, 2010 @ 2:40 am
Viva la resistance! And I don’t know about Auckland, but here in Perth I’d describe the desturction of my soul as more of a molten searing. The whole scorching-summer thing doesn’t add to Christmas’ appeal.
Comment by cheap jerseys — February 5, 2010 @ 1:32 am