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For Christmas, I was just going to crochet myself some socks and sit in the dark turning the lights on and off while listening to Destiny’s Child “Opera of the Bells” and staring at the wall, then go to bed.

I am both amused and disturbed by this plan.

Christmas, I love the energy stored in this holiday and all the sparkling lights, the snow when I’m someplace I can get it, the cold, the eggnog, the colors, the sentiment attached to it (when its doesn’t invalidating other people’s reality), but as I get older I realize that Christmas just doesn’t amuse me the way it used to, I feel like as I get older all I want for Christmas is

  1. love (unattainable at the level and intensity that I want it)
  2. money (Black and working class, so no)
  3. and expensive shit no one I know can afford (again, refer to note on #2)

I’ve never had the kind of Christmas people see on television though I know some people do, ain’t enough goodwill, cheer, and money close enough to me, I guess. The holiday has lost the blinding nature of its magic for me. For me, on a level, its just another day in the year.