People often stick to a small universe of topics this time of year. Weather, gifting, vacation, streaming content, and health. Right? Whether it’s water cooler chat at the office (or via Teams) or personal catchups, I find myself repeating the same phrases repeatedly.
Yes, it’s been unseasonably warm.
Wow, it feels cold, but that’s just because it’s been so unseasonably warm.
Sure feels like there’s climate change, eh?
Snow looks pretty- in small doses.
I started shopping ages ago, nearly done.
I’m opting for more experiential gifts this year- because it seems like everyone has everything.
Did you look at the gift guides put out by Refinery 29? Half useful and half insanity. Buying a colleague a $119 spice set seems unlikely, no matter their contributions.
Hoping to take a few days off, if I can swing it.
I have bets out on whether I’ll be able to disconnect this year.
Any chance people will actually be responsive between the holidays and New Year’s? Unlikely, right? Right? (The last right is said in a higher octave with just a hint of frantic).
Have you seen the new HBO Christmas movie? It’s still horseshit, but more realistic-ish. Like, better. For sure.
Did you notice how Hallmark is embracing the non-white, non-straight vibe this year? Their context is still cheesy as fuck, but at least they are condemning a wider swath of us to feelings of unworthiness. #equality
Did you see the finale to White Lotus? Lit, no?
I feel like COVID is going to ruin the holidays this year.
Did you get your flu shot?
I might just ring in 2023 with a cough. Just continue the trend through the year. I feel like it’s been so many months already.
Does any of this read with any level of familiarity? No? Wow. Tell me what you’re talking about then. Please. I could use some new material. I try to put an original spin on shit when I encounter someone for the first time or after some time has passed, but it’s a struggle. I find myself feeling disenchanted and disconnected from a whole slew of things this season and mustering the energy to get excited about the same old, same old, feels nearly impossible. And yet, I can’t really dig deep and find something new either. It’s a proverbial circling the drain exercise.
I couldn’t tell you what it is, but I know that when I try and tackle this topic with my people, I find myself apologetic. I feel like I need to start with a disclaimer that I am grateful and lucky. And I know I am both. Truly. I have a beautiful family and lovely friends. I have a job that’s secure, kind of (nothing is certain, as we know), which gives me a roof over my head and food on my table [in abundance], and the ability to purchase giant blanket scarves in my name sake.
I am thankful for all of this abundance, but also, I am cranky. I am. I feel over it.
I am over the concept that using paper straws is somehow the solution to seventy-degree weather in early December. I am over fluctuations in temperature that lead me to wonder whether I am peri-menopausal on a regular basis, but more so when someone turns on the fireplace in a room that might need ambiance but sure as shit does not need another heat source.
I am over needing a list to curate the perfect gift buying experience because our society has created an expectation that every gift will be accompanied with a story and a ‘gram worthy presentation.
I am over vacations that need to be bigger and more outrageous and more adventurous and travel-blogger worthy. I am tired of people explaining that they are ‘just going to visit grandma in Boca, and it’s lame but it’s something.’ I’ve reached a point of exhaustion with exorbitant and delayed air travel. I can’t do another search for a Pinterest eligible AirBnB. I’m good with a Hyatt. Or a Marriot. They do the same job. All is well. It’s a bed.
I don’t feel compelled to explain why I don’t feel particularly driven to watch the latest serial killer drama or an exploration into true crime or a holiday themed rom-com. Do I really have to explain that I’m tired and my ability to focus is close to nil? Do I have to claim that I prefer reading books, or has it become acceptable to explain that I spend a lot of time staring at my apartment ceiling or scrolling through social media with no real purpose in mind? Is that offensive or just authentic? Speaking of authentic: where is the line? When does authentic become boring? Always? Sometimes? Is authentic always a brand now and never a temporary state of being?
I don’t endlessly need to contemplate the underlying meaning in a show crafted by someone who’s sole intention is to foster ambiguity and mystery amongst watchers. Sure, there’s a theory and I’m happy to fuck with a meme, but I also miss the simple pleasure of just enjoying. Enjoyment without criticism or wokeness or a higher level of intellect required or sensitivity. Just enjoyment. Plain and simple. Or does that make me simple? Simple with a capital S and devoid of all the attitude in the world.
And for the love of God and all things sacred, I am sick to death of talking about being sick. I’ve always had an aversion to illness exposure. Perhaps this is the luxury associated with being a single person. Oh, your kid has a stomach bug? I’m so sorry- but please get the fuck out of my air space. Vicious cold that renders you filled with mucus and tinges your cheeks with an overly rosy hue? That sucks. Stay the fuck home. COVID has just amplified this sentiment. I’m now endlessly anxious and have an even greater aversion to illness chats. Don’t come at me with your dry cough or watery eyes.
I am a tremendously compassionate person. I promise you that I will be the first person to find the best company to deliver get well baskets and I will quickly send you Uber Eats gift cards to use to buy your chicken soup. I’ll gladly search online for you to find the nearest center testing for COVID/flu/other health related bullshit. I’ll send you texts checking on you and email you e-cards and I might even pop an old-fashioned Hallmark card in the mail, leaving my well-wishes with the United States Postal Service.
I just don’t want to talk about it. But, I can’t say that, right?
I can’t say that I don’t give a fuck about the weather unless that conversation means that I will know what to wear every single day without sweating to death or freezing my ass off.
I can’t really say that I feel like putting as little effort in as possible this year when it comes to gift giving, and if I could avoid the whole thing altogether and just spend time with my people, that would work just fine.
It’s in poor taste to remind people that vacation is challenging because everything is so damn expensive, and I can’t seem to get a single day where I’m not asked to connect with work in some fashion.
I become a strange animal if I say that there is so much content that I find the whole thing overwhelming and I don’t have the attention span to plug into anything more substantial than a half hour program and also, I don’t feel like anything dark and twisty or anything too mushy right now.
And I’m a heartless, paranoid bitch if I don’t want to talk about illness in any way, shape or form. I just don’t. I don’t want to knock on wood to avoid tempting fate. I don’t want to invite in the possibility of a holiday season completely alone to avoid infecting everyone around me. I don’t want to dump another $150 into tests and potions and tablets.
So yeah, give me new topics. Light me up with your originality. Please. I’ll take anything at this point. Sloths? Sure. They’re cute as fuck.
Let’s do it.
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