I think the worst thing about Christmas time, is the inevitable end and the subsequent return to real life. Back to my lonely hovel in SLC. Back to a job that makes me want to blow my brains out (possibly with my Christmas .45) on a daily basis. Back to an ungodly commute through wretched miles of construction and icy roads. Back to wondering if and or when my gutless Japanese-Mexican dream machine Javier will break down again, thus raping me of all financial security. Again. Back to the impossibility of finding a job which doesn't involve servitude with a fake smile, and thanking the fat, greedy, ungrateful masses for their patronage while silently cursing them in my heart, wishing for the aforementioned .45. Back to searching the many job forums, sifting through endless employment opportunities for which I am unqualified and for which 300 other (probably more qualified) people shall be applying. At least my bed in SLC is better than my Nephi bed. And I have a bidet. So I suppose there is THAT to look forward to.
I'm going to miss my siblings who are scattered about Utah, mostly in the far northern region. I'm going to miss threatening to feed my 4 month old niece cuties and shrimp cocktail, while her mother threatens me with an awful, screaming death. I'm going to miss food spreads; cheeses, shrimps, crackers, meats, cauliflowers, nuts, cookies, more meats, breads, treats, snacks, and then probably more treats and possibly even more snacks. I'm going to miss feeling like a heart attack is eminent at any moment, and the feeling that I can't eat even one more bite of something. And then subsequently eating several more bites of EVERYTHING. I'm going to miss not being surrounded by homeless vagrants when I use the interweb. I'm going to miss playing Scategories and thoroughly kicking everyone's ASS. I'm going to miss white elephant family gift exchanges, particularly the creature head constructed out of a deer asshole. This exists. Sort of a family heirloom. Mostly, I'm going to miss the comfortable feeling of being at home.
Come back soon Christmas. Stop taking so long to get here every single year.
Actually, I take that back. Take your time, Christmas. By the time you pass next year, I'll be on the waning end of 28. Which means 29 is next. Which means 30 comes right after that.
Dear God, spare me from single at 30. Dear Santa, please give me a 2011 Christmas wife, or a Christmas heart attack. Either will do.