(no subject)
I had something else I was writing but I have lost the taste to finish it. I know that later whatever was fueling it will kick in again and it will finish writing itself. But I feel the need to write something... So I'm going to tell you why I hate Christmas.
I grew up poor -- The kind of poor where you use dirt as a base in soup if one was lucky enough to afford the water.
Despite the poverty, my Mother and my Aunt (that's who I was growing up with at the time) would manage to get a Christmas Tree. The most pathetic Christmas Tree you have ever seen in your life. The kind that should have been on dialysis or getting chemo therapy. It was like that Christmas Tree in the Charlie Brown Christmas specials.
So we'd have a Christmas Tree(?). And we had gifts. But how did we afford gifts when we could barely afford a Christmas Tree? Well, every year my Mother and my Aunt would give each other socks.
Yeah, socks. Now I'm not disparaging socks. No, socks are awesome. If not for socks, what would we put on our feet? Would it be only shoes? That's ridiculous.
I've mentioned before that I've never really believed in Santa Claus. I was smart enough to not believe in Santa Claus and I was smart enough to know these people were going without, so that I could go with. And for what? I certainly didn't believe in God, or Jesus. I didn't believe in Christmas Miracles (my poverty showed me that) or anything else I got fed because I knew even then people were trying to get us to just buy shit for no good reason.
I'd get something nice, while my parents (my Mother and Aunt) went without. Sometimes my mother would even cry... but never openly.
This is why I hate Christmas. I grew up seeing it as just another thing to keep us poor and in the gutter, painfully reminding my Mother of her inadequacies, while someone else got fat off our meager existence.
Alright, I'm done.
I grew up poor -- The kind of poor where you use dirt as a base in soup if one was lucky enough to afford the water.
Despite the poverty, my Mother and my Aunt (that's who I was growing up with at the time) would manage to get a Christmas Tree. The most pathetic Christmas Tree you have ever seen in your life. The kind that should have been on dialysis or getting chemo therapy. It was like that Christmas Tree in the Charlie Brown Christmas specials.
So we'd have a Christmas Tree(?). And we had gifts. But how did we afford gifts when we could barely afford a Christmas Tree? Well, every year my Mother and my Aunt would give each other socks.
Yeah, socks. Now I'm not disparaging socks. No, socks are awesome. If not for socks, what would we put on our feet? Would it be only shoes? That's ridiculous.
I've mentioned before that I've never really believed in Santa Claus. I was smart enough to not believe in Santa Claus and I was smart enough to know these people were going without, so that I could go with. And for what? I certainly didn't believe in God, or Jesus. I didn't believe in Christmas Miracles (my poverty showed me that) or anything else I got fed because I knew even then people were trying to get us to just buy shit for no good reason.
I'd get something nice, while my parents (my Mother and Aunt) went without. Sometimes my mother would even cry... but never openly.
This is why I hate Christmas. I grew up seeing it as just another thing to keep us poor and in the gutter, painfully reminding my Mother of her inadequacies, while someone else got fat off our meager existence.
Alright, I'm done.