Well, hello there, December. You’re back, are you? How are you? It seems I’ve just seen you not so long ago, but hey! You’re here now so I’ll make an effort; I’ll try not to be rude. I’ve said hello, haven’t I? I’ve asked how you are. What more do you want from me?
It’s not your fault, really. You didn’t choose to have that Holiday associated with you. Hell, by all accounts, that dude was probably not even born during you, and yet, you have to shoulder that burden. So I shouldn’t be so cross with you. I should feel sorry for you. To be honest, some people I like very much have their birthdays associated with you (Hey Rob! Hey Amy!) but unfortunately, that holiday (I’ve stopped using the Capital on purpose now. I’m getting rude. I wish I could apologize.) screws it all up.
The trouble is I like that holiday… in theory. I love getting a tree and decorating it. I love to have an excuse to bake (and eat) tons of cookies. I love watching cheesy movies. I love having a little bit of a break in the middle of the week*. It’s not something that happens frequently in my freelancer world, so it’s lovely.
But I hate, hate, hate the obligations. Spending time with people I don’t see during the rest of the year and pretending that I have something to say to them (I’ve covered the topic of social anxiety in this blog earlier, December, if you want to browse down and read about that). December: on that fucking holiday (shit, I’m getting nasty now), I wish that I could just bake cookies, prepare myself a nice hot cocoa, sit next to my beautiful tree and watch the Lord of the Rings trilogy by myself. Just me, cookies, hot cocoa, tree and Aragorn.
But I dream…
*Five times out of seven, not a bad average.