Gah. I must be suffering from seasonal depression, even though I don't exactly feel depressed. I'm just exhausted all the time, for no real reason. I have zero energy and no desire to do anything except sit in front of the TV and vegetate.
Wait, that's not entirely true. I have the desire to write, except I don't have the energy or imagination to write anything other than this half-assed entry. There's something I wanted to do for Pear Harbor Day, which was yesterday, and by the time I get around to it I fear it will be too late for the entry to have any meaning whatsoever (although honestly it wasn't going to have much meaning anyway).
I am so fucking tired of this holiday season and it's only going to get more "in my face" festive in the coming weeks. Please, someone kill me now. Or at least supply me with enough booze that I pass out until after Christmas. A coma sounds delightfully restful.
I know it's Wednesday and I'm supposed to post something wacky, but nothing seems funny to me right now. It's all fake. Everything about this time of year is fake, including the forced sentiment we have to endure in order to avoid being called grinches.
I'm not a grinch, or at least I don't think I am. I don't want to take anyone's Christmas away. I just wish there was some way for you to have yours without foisting rampant commercialism and false cheer on mine. You know that hush you get in a church when the lights go down, right before the candles start lighting up and the congregation sings "Silent Night"? That moment, that pregnant pause, is my ideal Christmas moment, and all I want is to celebrate it.
Unfortunately it's being drowned out by the glitz and schmaltz and lights and carols.