Today is Christmas Eve and it still has not sunk in that tomorrow is Christmas Day. I don’t know if it’s because I’m older or because our family traditions have changed, but I don’t even care anymore. I’m not going to wake up at 7am, and run out to the tree to see what Santa left for me. Eventually I’ll end up rolling out of bed at 11am only because I have to be ready by 12:30pm to leave for my Grandparent’s house.
Long gone are the days when I would leave milk and cookies out and night, and have a hard time falling asleep knowing that Santa would be coming down our chimney sometime during the night. I think the first year I stopped believing in Santa was around the time I was maybe 12 or so. My bedroom was next to my parents room, and I was sleeping in my top bunk. I could hear them wrapping presents in their room, and not only that but I remembered that the wrapping paper I found in their room was the same kind that Santa used that year. After that it was pretty much up to me not to tell my younger sister that Santa didn’t exist (which said sister ended up telling our youngest sister around the age of 4/5 that Santa was fake, and our parents picked our gifts.)
That on Christmas Eve, the jolly old fellow that rang our front door, was actually my dad. Which explained a lot to me years later, because I would try to find my dad to tell him that “Holy Shit! Santa is HERE! AT OUR HOUSE!” he was always conveniently missing. One year he was in the bathroom, and upon my banging on the locked door, he didn’t answer. One year it was a beer run to the garage. I specifically remember the beer run, because when he came back into the house after Santa was gone, he told me how he got to see the reindeer on the roof and saw Santa fly off.
If they need to blame anyone for my pathological lying to them, it’s their own damn fault! Regardless, we used to have huge family Christmas Eve dinners. Then my Aunt/Cousins moved to Florida, which left just my grandparents. Then Christmas Eve turned into Christmas Day dinner, and it’s been that way for well over a decade now. Long gone are the times when my family would actually put effort into buying a gift. Now it’s either cash, or a gift card… Moreso for me than anyone else. I mean, sure they can buy me some videogames and whatnot. But that would actually require me telling them what I want for Christmas.
This year I didn’t ask for a damn thing. I’m not sure if my parents will still give me something (though I’d rather have cash; Got a ticket to buy), and I’m sure I’m going to get my ass ripped by my grandma. I told her I’d give her a list of things I wanted, and guess what, I didn’t. So she’ll either give me nothing to spite me, or a card with cash. Regardless, I know she’ll bitch 🙁
So I guess instead of looking forward to Christmas Day and being young again, I’m totally avoiding it. Not only that but what kind of asshole calls you at asscrackdawn on Christmas Eve? Credit Collectors. To remind you that you’re a pile of shit that can’t afford Christmas. I can only hope they don’t call tomorrow. Credit Collectors have no heart, so they’ll work on Christmas Day shattering hearts everywhere that the Christmas present you bought, just put you in debt. Thanks guys.