Happy Christmas Eve.

The holidays are a confusing time.

A lot of people feel that their personal worth is judged by the presents that they give.  Commercials emphasize this by putting impossibly big bows on cars and tiny bows on exceedingly expensive jewelry.

Slogans don’t help either.
If every kiss begins with K and it’s the ultimate in luxury and style, the quality better be remembered long after the price is forgotten.  I better be on the receiving end in one of those perfume commercials too.    Some of them could be considered soft-core porn.

I know this is when businesses make money and prepare for the slacking six months that are ahead, but geez.

I don’t think the consumer is really considered.   We’re preyed upon by bell ringers… not the ringers themselves, but the Army behind it.   Don’t you want to help in ‘doing the most good?’  Coupons become scarce.  Malls (or, as I prefer, mauls) become crowded and competitive.  People become tired from extra working hours, stressed about not meeting the self-imposed expectations of gifts, and ill because – well, this is December – the heart of flu season.

Course, there’s the whole family thing.  If you are on good terms with your family, this can be an awesome time.   If not, this it’s miserable.  People are comparing achievements – or the lack of achievements – dress, manners, haircut, what is ordered, how what is ordered is consumed, who pays with what and how, weight, and what is said.  There’s probably more to it, but I can’t think of what right now.

It’s a good thing that I don’t care about that stuff.   I’m great with my own family.   If I was in Indiana right now, I’d fully expect to spend Christmas Eve and Day in my PJs.  In the land of sunshine,  I’m attending a Christmas lunch at Ruby Tuesdays with basically strangers with who I have unstable relationships.

But, still, it’s a good thing that I don’t care about manners, dress, or what people eat.   I don’t care what achievements they may or may not have done over the year.   Swear – it’s like a mini class reunion.  In truth, I don’t care or have personal feelings for roughly 97% of the people gathered.

This just isn’t for the boy’s family, who I will be having lunch with in a couple of hours, but includes my own as well.  Aunts. Uncles. Cousins.  They don’t contribute to my overall happiness and state of mind, so I don’t really care or judge myself by whatever mythical standards society has in place.

I hope they’re not jealous or feel pity for me as I have no feelings for them.

I know this may seem to be hard-hearted, but I’m not that greedy.  I have everything I need now — save paying off the debt, mental stability, and fabulous vacations.   Goblins are jealous, loot, and plunder whatever they can.   I’m not a goblin.   I can’t even be bothered to make an effort.

What does tie my tinsel is how the boy reacts and how they react to the boy.  He’s the oldest of three, just as I am.   While I’m sure that he is proud of his younger siblings for what they accomplish, he holds their lives as a measurement of his own.    And, unfortunately, they do the same.   Well, at least one of them does.    The whole situation can create a very minty and sticky situation very quickly.   The mother and Paul tend to instigators too, which really doesn’t help.

Their interactions tend to dictate how my day goes.  The boy’s facial expressions can be exceedingly easy to read and if he looks like he’s wounded or offended, I tend to become a sharpened candy cane wielding Scrooge with a heart five times too small.

It’s not a pleasant sight.

Anyway, here’s to a quick and merciful lunch.

I suppose the whole point is to attempt to ignore the unpleasantness and just be happy that everyone is still on (mostly) speaking terms.

Little wonder why getting drunk on New Years is so popular.

What a great holiday.
Fleeced by charities.  Debt.  Guilt.  And that empty hollowness in knowing that you’re not living up to that ol’ Christmas Spirit.

Here’s to us.
Cheers.