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Sunday, November 25, 2012

Holiday Blues

The holiday blues come in different forms. There is the usual loneliness that people feel and then there is the utter dysfunctionality of family. Lets face it these are people you no longer live with and there is a reason for that. If no one shoots anyone or offends anyone for life then it has been a good holiday. Maybe juggling nitro glycerin would be the metaphor for interacting with egos bruised from history and time. But there is another sort of blues that comes in that is much darker than the normal run of the mill holiday blues. It is an existential threat that hovers right next to the ungodly amount of work and then just outright boredom.

Holidays are for kids. Well put. They are and if you are an adult then you go into a quasi combat mode of "getting things done." At a point there is too much to be done so you settle for controlled chaos and a "lets just get through this." Work on Monday  never looked so fine .But  then you tell yourself these are the best times with family and you try and find those moments. But you are bloated and tired and there is that strange empty isolated feeling. It is an existential dread.

You are another year older. Your friends have drifted to points unknown. You bust your ass routinely and can take a nap in a nanosecond. You are one step closer to the end. You do not dwell on these thoughts but they run in the background like a computer program blinking time is limited time is limited. And so you try and account for the year passed and really all you see is that is going faster and you are strangely edgy now. You can barely perform the niceties but getting up the tree and decorations have fried you out. What does it matter if we are going to die anyway. Some  of us sooner than later.

But that passes too and you think; what the hell, this is the holidays. Why aren't I more happy? Why does everyone else seem to be doing cherry things and having a great time? You have no idea. All you know is that like the holidays, the holiday blues come but once a year. And all you can do is grin and hold your glass high.

This too shall pass.

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Books by William Hazelgrove