3 more sleeps...

Another Christmas will soon be in the can. For the first time ever, I think, I can't wait for it to be over. What I'd really like to do is run away to some place that is very quiet and hide out in bed for a week. Or two. Alone. Not even a fantasy fellow would be invited. I'm too tired and low feeling to entertain such make-believeness. In fact, I can't even fantasize myself into feeling attractive enough for pretend bodice ripping hijinks. Maybe I'd bring a book, but even that feels like a lot of work. Oh boo-hoo. Another sad sack blue Christmas blog post. Just what the world needs.

I'm eating kale and quinoa. Healthful.

Tis the season to...

... do the wrong thing for the right reason. Being a grown-up seems to involve a whole lot of looking the other way, turning the other cheek etc and so on in order to keep the peace. And this season is all about peace, is it not? It's the time of year where families all over the world spend a good deal of time pretending in order to keep everyone happy.

Every year I try to recreate these wonderful Christmases from my childhood and every year I fail. It doesn't feel the same. It's not as warm and I'm nowhere near as happy as my parents were. So, I fake it. I fake a happy family Christmas while beating myself up for not being able to pull off the "real thing." But here's a scary thought... maybe my parents were faking it, too. And what if they're parents were faking it, as well? This means the bar has been set impossibly high for generations. Kids grow up believing Christmas is this amazing, happy time of year completely ignorant to the anxiety of their parents. And so when it's time for them to put on their own festivities, they too crumble under the pressure, fuck it up and cover it up .

And what am I going to do about it? Nothing. I'm going to put on apron and bake some more cookies, watch Christmas movies and try pass this queasy expression off as a smile. I'll fake it until I make it and let the next generation sort it out.