A Very Grownup Christmas Part II

Somewhere the inner workings of my brain told me the best holiday-themed blog would be on cultural appropriation, but my better judgment told me to wait on that one.

You're welcome.
How about a story instead?

Once upon a time there was a 21 year old Kira. This particular Kira was troubled by her penchant for getting up at 5:00 in the morning every single Christmas, tearing her stocking apart like it was made of gold, and being convinced that it was appropriate to display more enthusiasm about Christmas than the average five year old.

This 21 year old Christmas enthusiast morphed into a 22 year old Grinch.

I'm not entirely sure how this happened in the course of one year, but I've seemed to forget that Christmas is actually happening. I mean sure, I'm grateful for the excuse to eat another Christmas cookie (and another, and another...), and I have more time to spend with my family, but somehow being too old to have (non-alcoholic) fun and being too young to have kids (seriously, don't remind me that I'm not too young to have kids) makes Christmas kinda just...there--like that friend of a friend that no one really likes, but you're too polite to say anything.

So really, Christmas, I'm doing you a favor by not telling you to leave. How generous of me.

It's not for lack of trying. My roommate, the ultimate Christmas enthusiast, has tried multiple times to put me in the holiday spirit with carols and festive decorations. She even let me scream that "like George Washington!" bit at the end of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer (and no one ever lets me do that). Yet despite my roommate's well-intentioned attempts to get me to feel joy, I cannot help but do this at the sight of anything festive:

Maybe it's the fact that, coming from a divorced family, I'm often the product of the inevitable holiday tug-of-war. No matter how kind and respectful of the other my parents are, it's just a matter-of-fact that the absence of family is a hundred times lonelier on Christmas.

(At least that's what I tell myself when I visited my mother in NYC and did all the shopping.)

The only picture I have from New York because I'm a narcissistic fuck (i.e. that time I forced my mother to learn Snapchat)

At this point, the knowledge that I'll inevitably be separate from some part of my family makes me want to jet off to California, lay on a beach with a margarita (I don't know what the proper beach drink is), and go "hah, none of you win! I'm spending Christmas wallowing in my singleness and self-inflicted doom!"

Nothing says Christmas like a healthy dose of doom-wallowing.

Maybe it's the fact that State College seems to be on an on-again off-again relationship with snow (they're on a break at the moment). Maybe I'm bitter of the fact that Christmas break ceases to exist the moment I step into the real-world, so I'm practicing being unhappy. Maybe I haven't eaten enough cookies. Yeah no, it's definitely that last one.

Allow me to fix that immediately.

(And in case any of you think your Christmas card is absurd this year, allow me to introduce you to my family:)

Have a very merry Christmas, everyone.

Namaste.