Wednesday, November 30, 2011

I'm Scrooge, yes, I am!

Have I mentioned I hate this time of year?
From the second week of October until New Year's has passed, I'm Ebineazer Scrooge, baby.
October is the reminder of my personal loss and my family's loss.
November and Thanksgiving are just bigger reminder's of a loss that created a gaping void in me and my family.
December should be for recovery, but instead is about birthdays and holiday's and work trying to get it all done.
I'm bah hubbugging the whole damned thing.
Add to that a dear friend getting diagnosed with cancer, and I'm just ready to be done with it already.
While she has a great, winning (and not in the freaky Charlie Sheen way) attitude, I'm stuck yelling at the skies and asking why? Why do we have to hurt? Why do we have to feel loss? Why do good people get dealt screwed up cards?
Picture me stomping my feet, shaking my fist at the sky, and yelling at the big old nothing and you've pretty much got it down pat.
The high points are my heathens, who look forward to this time of year with unbridled joy and excitment.
They listed all the fun things about winter during our car ride to school.
They look forward to warm mittens and cups of hot cocoa and snow ball fights.
They believe that Santa will bring them what they really want this year.
Me? Not so much. What I want, Santa can't fit in a stocking.
I want world peace.
I want money not to matter anymore.
I want people to smile more and bitch less.
I want cancer exterminated.
I want my lost baby.
I want my daddy back.
I want my joy back.
All big orders for one single fat man in a red suit.
So while I plaster a smile on my face and try to pretend to be happy for the heathens, inside, I'm just counting the days until January 2nd.
And muttering Bah Humbug under my breath at every turn.

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