Okay, today I’ve just posted a new article over at TW&TW asking if there’s any way that ISIS can emerge from the current conflict with something resembling a victory. My intention to get anything else finished today flew out the window the moment I realised I had to do some shopping.
All the usual shops are in the Christmas spirit already. I’ve not been in the Christmas spirit for about ten years. There have been times when I used to mildly look forward to Christmas but that’s whenever I’ve been trapped in some deadend job. Christmas was always an excuse to do my own thing for two weeks. In periods of self-employment, Christmas is just a thing to get in the way of my doing the things I really love to do: writing and cartooning. When working, Christmas was time for the Work’s Christmas Meal and I’ve always tried to avoid those whenever I can. Those I’ve gone to have been horrible drunken affairs filled with people not very funny when sober but even worse when drunk. Since I don’t drink, I tend to sit there feeling unwelcome and utterly bored.
People naturally assume that I’m miserable. I’m not. Most of the time I’m a clown who doesn’t need alcohol to warp my reality. I find my reality warped enough. I’m also consistent. I think it would be hypocritical of me to criticise the religions of other people if, at the same time, I was wearing reindeer antlers or celebrating the birth of a guy I don’t believe was immaculately conceived and rose from the dead.
What annoys me most of all about Christmas is that I’m not so dim that I can’t see what’s going on. The shops have computer systems that just rotate the stock on certain days. There’s a mechanical indifference about these seasons and it’s usually people with the least money that spend the most ‘for the children’. It’s sad as it is predatory. And though people think I hate Christmas because I’m a ‘Scrooge’, I actually hate Christmas because I see people made unhappy because of the false illusions of happiness forced to us at Christmas. I despise those John Lewis ads, which have become ‘a thing’ each year. They are nothing but illusions wrapped around illusions. The food looks good when photographed but, in reality, is probably stone cold, the steam is liquid nitrogen, and the colour of the turkey is probably painted on. I really don’t want to live my life by other people’s lies.
Lastly, I hate people using Christmas to say how much they hate sprouts. Everybody hates sprouts except for me. I love sprouts. If I could chance Christmas, I’d change it to a sprout festival. And, yes, in case you haven’t guesses: I’m still typing this rubbish straight into the browser window and not doing a jot of editing. So if there were any typos in any of the above, I’m sorry. I now need to go write something that might (in theory) make me enough money to eat my favourite vegetable this Sproutmicklemas.