Crisismas

Ah Christmas. 


A time of giving, family, friends and more food and drink than one would normally consume throughout the year. A time when people set aside their differences for a little while and enjoy the festive spirit.


I would love to buy in, I really really would. 


Peace on Earth and good will to men (don't worry ladies, I'm sure this is just a clerical oversight)? Sign me up, I love peace and good will, especially Good Will Hunting, those Boston accents are so quaint and funny. 


Charity and thinking of those less fortunate? Absolutely! Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE has the right to one of those giant Toblerone bars (and possibly a chocolate orange) over the yuletide season. 


Pretty lights everywhere and oh, the smell of freshly deforested pine? I can't tell you how much I love Christmas lights, my entire apartment is lit with them. LEDs of course, one must be sensitive to the demands placed on the power grid. Also, rope lights, I feel like rope lights would have been the defacto lighting for Christmas if the strip joints hadn't gotten to them first. As you may have noticed a few sentences ago, I live in an apartment, so trees are not quite feasible for me, a similar effect can be achieved however with a few strategically placed pine scented car fresheners.


Now, obviously I am not without Christmas cheer, I mean, read the above again, I should be considered as a replacement should Santa ever have a mishap. However, there is something that holds me back, a yearly occurrance that has caused me to despise this time of year.


I have dubbed this Crisismas.


To begin, I have been sick every freaking Christmas for the past forever. I do not mean a little sniffle and a small cough politely muffled into the hand. Every internal component of my body liquifies and then holds a hundred metre dash to see who can make it out of my nostrils first. As far as I can tell, my brain wins every year because in addition to doing my best impression of Slimer from Ghostbusters, the cavity where my brain USED to be gets replaced by a helium filled mylar balloon. I am not sure if any of you have felt this sensation, but when ill and feverish, I have the tendency to feel somewhat like one of those giant Macy's Day parade balloons: disconnected except for a few small strands of rope held by people dressed as upside-down clowns. This is a disconcerting walk through the world, if only for a few days.


On top of my yearly descent into snot filled, feverish discombobulation, there has been, for the past few years anyways, a major crisis that pops up during the holiday season. If you have ever tried to achieve anything of meaning over the holidays, I am sure you can relate. Finding a new job or a place to live is nigh on impossible when half the people you need to deal with are drunk on rum and eggnog and wearing dancing santa hats. In case you are unsure, I would like to impart one bit of knowledge I have gleaned over the years: eggnog drunkeness and dancing santa hats are not desirable qualities in either landlords or employers.


So, as I sit here, trying yet again to resolve my Crisismas (while also trying to keep my copious nasal secretions from fowling my keyboard), it occurs to me that a great many people are likely in the same inflatable canoe as myself. To these poor unfortunate souls, I recommend the traditional Crisismas gift. A copy of Good Will Hunting (or just wait 5 minutes, it'll likely be on TBS), a giant Toblerone and some pine tree air fresheners. Take a couple of deep pine filled breaths and realize you are not alone...now let's get drunk on eggnog and join the dancing hat party.