I’m a Scrooge, I know, but screw this season. I wish I could fast-forward to January 2, and skip all this enforced gaiety.
It’s what really bugs me, on top of the frantic crowds and insane traffic. The obligation to be pleasant and engaging, when the last thing I want to hear is another perfunctory “Merry Christmas” across halls decked with boughs of (faux) holly.
The modern idea of the “holidays” has been clearly invented for the sole purpose of promoting mindless consumerism and shameless excess and the whole herd has bought into it. We run, willy-nilly, desperately trying to have a good time even though, in our hearts, we feel sick and empty.
As another disaffected soul noted, there is so much about the holiday season that leave people in an impossible emotional situation — the pressure to be “happy”, the estranged feeling from the barrage of music, lights and commercial focus that sets up an impossible fantasy image when for many, the holidays are just the opposite. In fact, I’m sure you’ve heard that there are more suicides during this period than at any other time during the year.
And the noise level. Is it just me or are there more firecrackers and other maddening auditory irritants this year ?
I’ve been advised that the best cure for my dark mood is to focus on others, on those less fortunate, and try to mitigate their plight. Perhaps. But I seem to lack the energy to look beyond my nose. What I really want to do is crawl into bed and not get up until after two weeks or so.
David Mitchell in the Observer says bah humbug to all of us who hate Christmas.