A Christmas with Me, Myself, and I.

 Before you call me a Grinch, I love the idea of Christmas. A selfless time that people ruin or make merrier with hilarious arguments while they sit around either a hypoallergenic plastree or a tree that wasn't fortunate enough for a paper mill. I love the lights, the things people set up, the over the top cooking, deco, and smells. The music can be catchy on some occasions. I'm not going to say "People are bad for only giving once a year" because that argument is contrived. People give all year round, Christmas is the time to do it on a schedule with everyone else, it's a social event that I find interesting. However Christmas started in August for most. My restaurant job had two trees up by then, Gamestop was having deals but thankfully there wasn't, and still isn't, any Christmas things around the store.
I hate the idea of buying for people. I feel this is a trading thing, and so the sincerity leaves the building entirely. I hate it when I don't know what someone wants, their house is cluttered, and all I can think of is a gift card. The Insincere part of my brain laughs evilly as I pick them up. I hate the idea of dropping a load of money on a gift that lasts a moment but is gone. But, from what I've learned first hand, experiences last longer than physical gifts. I believe there was a study released recently backing me up. So what am I going to do? Get my sister a plushimal of some sort, she's 2, she slips by the experience means more part, I'm going to get the folks a dinner out, get my brother and his wife a boat ride of some sort, get my older younger sister a gift card because she's seventeen and will not take experiences well over money, and I will sit at home, pleased with my plunders as I draw, drink, and fill the house with candles and music.

My perfect Christmas is one alone, with myself and my thoughts, a moment of quiet clarity away from the noise and requirements of family, friends, co-workers and bosses. A Christmas where I can stretch out and take a breath for a second because everything leading up to that moment will be nothing but a hectic blur of living to work, and working to live.