Sharp new yellow pencil. Limitless potential.
Our bedroom. Two voices. I knock.
First love. Circumstances change. Worst strangers.
I’ve always been called “The Grinch” and I accept it. The Christmas Season is not my favourite season, without going into extremes, I hate it. Something about this time of year makes me depressed and anxious. Above all else, its the expectation of this season that makes me so angry. The expectation to be happy. The expectation to buy presents. The expectation to participate.
Everything about this season is fake and obligatory. Worse than that, I don’t consider myself to be religious. This means that all the religious undertones and connotations do not mean anything for me.
This year, I am not doing shit. I’m not buying presents for anyone. I’m not suffering through dinners that remind me that I’m an outcast. I’m not doing anything because it does not resonate with me. More than that, I’m tired of doing things because I feel like I have too.
This season should be about love, gratitude and giving. However, I never feel like its the case. If anything this season feels like the opposite…