My problem is I can't stand the fuss: the turning of the house upside down, the pressure to buy-buy-buy and spend-spend-spend, the awful office parties, the tasteless decorating, the crowds at the mall and in the bank, the traffic, the mountains of food that can't even fit in the refrigerator, the cooking, the overeating, and did I mention the cooking?
The notion of running away for Christmas has grown ever more appealing as the years have passed and my son has grown up. I have a great excuse now: it's not that I'm weird and antisocial and more than a little contemptuous of the performances which we're obligated to pull off like marionettes to placate society, family and church. It's that I need to run away because I have writing to do. That, my dear reader, is the trump card I've been hiding up my sleeve, just waiting for the right moment to slap it on the table and annihilate the opposition.
I'm a writer. Maybe a weird, antisocial, contemptuous one, but a writer nonetheless, so when I say I'm missing Christmas because I have writing to do, deadlines to meet and scripts to edit, people understand. Not only do they understand - they're even a little impressed.
A writer buddy and I have found a quiet place on the north coast of the island that's perfect for bypassing at least some of the Christmas craziness. I've applied for time off the day job, and I'm stocking up on those anti-Christmas movies I listed last year in my post For Those Who Hate Christmas for those odd times when I'm not, y'know, writing. See y'all in January.
—Liane Spicer
Now, if the whole point of it wasn't to hide from everyone, I'd run away with you - except then it might turn into a Christmas party which would defeat the object of it. Roll on January!!
ReplyDeleteI am feeling festive, but it's probably helped by not having so many presents to get (my siblings and self have donated to a chosen charity instead of buying each other presents), I'm not doing Christmas lunch this year at home (being taken out somewhere fabulous) and declined the office Christmas Party.
ReplyDeleteI'm enjoying it immensely so far.
ChrisH, I have to admit that a Christmas party in a little beach house with people I DON'T want to run away from sounds awfully appealing!
ReplyDeleteDebs, you have the PERFECT Christmas lined up! I'm taking notes, lady!
I thank you for the larger fonts.
ReplyDeleteI don't consider wanting to getaway from the society-induced madness called Christmas Time anti-social or even insane. A visitor from either Mars or Venus, looking at our behavior at Christmas Time, would surely wonder how we were ever able to build a structure as magnificent as the Port of Spain Hyatt and I would say to them, if asked, it was the French. But that's beside the point.
We turn mad around Christmas Time because we pretend to be sane for the rest of the year with a brief lapse around Carnival. It is the insanity Clause in our contract with life. Christmas Time is more than temporary madness; it is used to boost the economy by creating poverty at all levels of society through reckless spending on cheap foreign goods and not books. We buy Chinese, dual-SIM phones that would last two days beyond their one month warranty. We pressure wash, not bleach, our driveway moss as if the moss has no right to live freely and without fear of eviction without notice. We eat too much, drink too much, string too much Christmas lights, and say Merry Christmas too. We do this without knowing we have become mindless zombies no longer able to appreciate the meaning of something that once had meaning. Christmas has evolved into something so alien that it would take a good Wall Street Financial adviser, if there is one, to recognize the true meaning of Christmas.
akalol, you're welcome re the fonts! I figure if I'm having trouble reading the tiny default font then others must be as well.
ReplyDeleteAh, the Hyatt. We're so rich in tall buildings, and so poor in medical services and utilities. But that's a whole other conversation.
You've pretty much summed up my feelings about the Christmas season. They call me Scrooge on account of my disaffection, but I've been called worse names. :D