After several agonizing months I believe that destiny has finally decided to come full circle. Well a sharp ninety degree turn at the least. With vials of medication filling my bathroom drawers, the unreliable yeti of days past has hopefully disappeared. But don't quote me on it, that is if I am quotable at all.
For most of Christmas, a sweeping mood of scrooginess (yes I doubt it is a word, but I don't care) always seems to fill my soul with absolute despair. Perhaps it's the fact that my family was the December cover story for Sanitariums Monthly. If anyone has seen Little Miss Sunshine, then you have the general concepts of my familial situation. All you need to add is some cocaine snorting Jesus pushers who at age forty still live at home. My extended family's idea of a vacation is to visit the Daniel Quale Museum of Vice Presidents. Spiro Agnew ftw. Mind you this is the extended family, my parents are merely simply nuts.
And if it weren't for the family demolishing my holiday spirit, all one has to look at is the week of false charity that precedes the false birthday of Christ. Supposedly he was born in May or June I believe, but it was certainly not December just as he was not the only Caucasian in Nazareth. And for some reason a vast number of foolhardy Americans believe that several days of compassion will make up for years of boorish behavior. If god does exist, it can certainly see the past beyond Christmas.
Oh and Christmas music. I cannot abide the repetition of Rudolph across hundreds of soft rock radio stations. My ears bleed a soft melange of glowing red and green. Now if only Santa had delivered me a Wii. Damn you Claus.