Sunday, Nov. 24, 2019 - 8:37 a.m.

I mean, this year we have done a lot to make things better for me. I have had A LOT more work time, U has matured somewhat and his violent meltdowns are a lot less frequent, and I’m definitely sleeping better. I got to go on vacation even. So why do the holidays feels worse? Why does it feel harder, not easier?

The stress around the obligatory acquisition of additional unnecessary possessions is a constant. That part hasn’t changed.

Every year I have a fresh crop of memories of the bullshit that transpired the year before and the anticipation of having to manage it all is worse. Also I’m a lot less interested in talking this year. Last year was not enjoyable. I have to just lay there and think of England for a month straight and then act gracious about it and be glad the other party had a nice time and pretend I have forgotten how fucking terrible it was when it’s time for it to happen again. Be a good sport. Don’t be selfish. I am not exaggerating to say that I do not enjoy myself at any point. At best I reach the heights of emotional sea-level, but usually I’m drowning a bit. Even the extra free time I get isn’t the same, it’s recovery time at best and recovery isn’t really enjoyable, it’s just a chance to stick my head above water for a second before I go under again. Honestly if you just held me under it’d be more merciful. I’d just break and have a good excuse not to keep trying for a while.

And if it’s unreasonable I can’t help it. I can’t help it. I’m not faking my stress because I’m selfish and spoiled. Don’t talk to me about it.

Idk like last year I was interested in making the Christmas cookies. It felt like fun. This year I don’t care. Last year I was working on that tree skirt. This year I don’t care. The only thing I plan to do is make more gift bags because they enable my laziness. Maybe I’ll come out of this funk a little and feel better. Who knows.

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