I feel like Scrooge. Or the Grinch. I hate Christmas. I hate it. I hate the obligations. I hate the inevitable comments of relatives you haven’t seen in a year. I hate being obliged to feel happy and merry and Christmas-y. I hate having to go through countless small talk where everyone comments on how big you are and how fat you’re getting or whatever. If I could do it my way, I’d celebrate Christmas alone in my room with bottles of vodka and packs of Dunhill.
Maybe this is the result of stress and all the other shit that’s been going on this year. Whatever it is, I’m going to be happy when 2008 is over. But given my oh-so-optimistic attitude, I don’t have anything to look forward to in 2009 either. So what’s the point?
So what do I want for Christmas? Prozac.
