It’s not beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.
Not at all.
And not in a “time flies” kind of way either.
Christmas Eve is already upon us and we are yet to erect any sort of Christmas cheer in this household. Not a tinsel in sight, nor a tree with bright lights.
This time of year has become somewhat tumultuous for me. Easily rocked by melancholy, the Grinch setting his sights on my feeble soul. And it hasn’t been made any easier with the absence of Christmas. Not one reminder of that perpetual hope it seems to instil within us during this time of year. For this house has been undergoing renovations the past few weeks and thus my parents insisted on halting the festive decorums.
As always I find myself longing for days past.
For jubilant times, when this time of year equated to gatherings and not seldom forlornness. A house decorated with all sorts of merriment in tones of red, green and gold. And that tree teeming with gifts for the entire extended family.
A Christmas Eve of happier days, were family and friends gathered, ate and were joyous. A night of copious amusement and booze consumed as if one had been cast away to the deep desert sands for thirty days.
I yearn for those days I eagerly anticipated the night; not dread its countdown to aimlessness.
An evening so obscure, no light can find me.
I miss the jovial banter between family. The National Lampoons blaring on a forgotten television. The countless yawns of a family bound by blood, as we impatiently awaited for the midnight hour to strike and the lively chaos that soon ensued as we ravaged our gifts while giving thanks, too soon to part ways, only to prepare for yet another day of merriment.