Disclaimer: Notes reflect the attitude of the author who writes them. This note was scribbled by a somewhat tired and verifiable frustrated young man after perceiving what he felt to be a meaningless celebration from those around him. You may find the following a tad cutting or at least unfunny so please remember that we do not monger hate and you can always feel the love by sending us an email. Without further ado, here is the Cynical Post-Christmas Wrap:
Christmas is past. Its exit is announced by the last few chords of 1001 renditions of Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire that waft through the centrally located boom box to give momentum to the last dying breaths of holiday cheer. Its departure is pronounced by Christmas decorations now dusty from a month of exposure, wreaths whose prime past with the holiday and a tree, what a tree, now brown and tired like the mulch from which it was transplanted. Tomorrow morning, the garbage man will remove it to the final resting place of all trees: the dump.
Stores and restaurants are likewise pulling down their plastic cheer; Santa and his reindeer join bright electric lights in crude storage bins to await next year's festivities. Yuletide green and holly red are peeled away, scraped off or simply covered. Bigger stores are repainting their windows for New Year's sales and resetting prices for post-holiday clearance.
Most employees are returning to their usual labor, seven pounds heavier than they were before Thanksgiving, but full of happy memories of fun with friends and family. They will complain to their bosses about not enough vacation and think for the umpteenth time about switching careers. Those whose jobs recommence later are enjoying the extended nature of their vacation, often by traveling far to “get away” from their life's difficulties. Little do these travelers know that plane, car and boat cannot help them escape what is making them tired.
Shoppers are busily making their rounds, returning the items they didn't like, were the wrong size or so distasteful that the faux paux of returning is outweighed by the atrocity of the gift. The stores greet these give-back-receivers without the holiday spirit that accompanied the article's original departure, but most are civil nonetheless. Why do men always think the women in their lives are smaller than they actually are? Thank your lucky stars for gift receipts.
Students are enjoying the beginning of a 3-4 week respite from school (unless, of course, the pupil is unfortunate enough to attend a college that subscribes to the quarter system, in which case the break is nothing but a brief hiccup in the daily grind). Some leave their families to join Governor Arnold for a mountain ski trip or engage in an equally unproductive activity, others just rusticate at home, hoping to avoid the winter cold and Christmas cleanup duties.
A sense of calm surrounds everything. From the muted hustle and bustle of the city to the quite calm of the country, the rush-to, mail now and clean up Christmas rush has subsided, leaving ordinary people to bask in the luscious beauty of life without obligations. The feels like a major storm has just passed and shoulders relax to let tensions tumble.
With the calm, people turn sentimentally reflective. That is, they mirror the emotions of those around them. They also begin to reflect on the past year and often ask a variant of Ronald Reagan's famous question: “Are you better off now than you were one year ago?” If the answer is yes, you can feel guiltily happy about yourself (guilty because everyone else is probably worse off and happy because you are doing okay). If the answer is no, the New Year's resolutions will have to be made stricter in the coming annum.
The darkness of winter is pronounced and the Solstice is little more than a memory. The radio reminds us that we are dreaming of a synthesized Christmas, and that's exactly what we got. The earth will continue spinning around the sun and the hollowness of an empty Christmas is felt by all, though few dare to mention it. We're sure the holiday has meaning, somewhere.
It is three hundred and sixty-three days until next Christmas. And we are not yet ready for it.
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