Seasonal affective disorder. It's here. It showed up around the end of November, I think. Just snuck right in without me noticing at first. I'm pretty sure it crawled in through a window one night when I was dead to the world, the sneaky bastard. It'll be here until March, at least. Talk about unwelcome visitors...
The holidays are coming, too. Bastards. The marketing devils and commercializing gurus of Wal-Mart and Target have killed Jesus (again). God forbid you don't get your kid that new cell phone or cute little laptop for Christmas.
Hey, all the cool kids on the Wal-Mart commercial have them. If you really loved me, Mom, you'd sell your soul for that awesome Guitar Hero game. You'd lower yourself to stand in line for two hours at 4:00 in the morning while your Thanksgiving dinner is still digesting.
I'd rather shave with a chainsaw. Meanwhile, I'm putting up with the hype like the rest of us, S.A.D. in tow.
Hurry up, January. I loathe wishing my life away, but it's beats going with the mundane flow. Besides, all I really want for Christmas is peace of mind. Some rum punch. A little naughty to spice up the nice, perhaps.
I guaran-damn-tee you that Wal-Mart doesn't carry any of that.
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