Some people find the holidays to be depressing. And I can easily see why — there’s plenty of “family” this, “family” that, and if you’ve lost a loved one recently, the holidays can sting.
I, on the other hand, fall into the post-holiday slump.
I mean, let’s face it: the Christmas season is the most exciting part of winter, no? There are decorations and family and trees, and ornaments and lights and cookies – and it’s early enough in the winter that people are still excited about snow.
Snow! Snow. It’s like this novel thing in December. All the kids are collectively hopeful for a white Christmas, and I don’t think most adults would mind (too) much.
You put up the tree, you put up the lights. You get single lines of Christmas songs stuck in your head for days (“…from Atlantic to Pacific; gee, the traffic is terrific…“)
You wrap the presents, perhaps in a single marathon-style sitting, bitching about the stupid Scotch tape getting stuck to the carpet or about how the paper is so damn thin that you can practically see the title of the book you’ve just wrapped right through the paper.
But still, you don’t mind. Something about life feels warm even though the world outdoors is bitter and cold.
Then, the 25th rolls around. And in the wink of Santa’s eye, it’s suddenly December 26th — just another day.
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