The deeper meaning escapes me. For the faithful or the dedicated consumer, maybe there's a point. All I can see is work, bother, money flowing away on strange pointless things that for 364 days are useless. Stress. Distress. Sticky tape curling back on itself, far too much silly food and drink, and a series of uncomfortable social happenings which would be much more fun if spread over the rest of the year.
Yeah, I hate christmas. In recent years I've joked that as long as *I* get presents the rest doesn't matter, but this year I just don't care. I'm too tired, too sore, too underwhelmed. I DO care for my dear ones, very much. I just don't like the expectations of the purrfect gift, the purrfect funny card, the beeyootiful overload of food and booze... On a day which is often too hot for masses of food, too busy to be enjoyable, and too full of memories of past pains and joys to be easily manageable, forget it. I'll be in the hammock, half a cup of cold coffee by my sleeping side, with a book fallen on my legs.
Sorry. I still love you all. I'm going away until next year to find some inner peace, think about some things, and try to renew my smile button.
Be safe, be alert for the festive crap-o-meter overload, and enjoy the champagne bubbles while they last.
This season brought to you by Dior 'Addict', which gets an honourable mention because it's the only purrfume I can smell atm. And because I LOVE the purrple bottle!
The Pace of Time
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