Saturday, 23 December 2017

My Grinch Moment

I'm know I'm going sound like the great villains in Christmas-tinted stories when I type what I am about to type - a miserable and petulant amalgam of The White Witch of Narnia, Ebenezer Scrooge, and the Grinch - but I'm starting to have this sinking feeling in the pit of my being that Christmas really does suck arse at times.  You run around like a blue-arsed fly in the final week leading up to 25 December, and it's all over in twenty-four hours.  If your kids are young, you're expected to get them to a relative's house in blistering heat, and the kids are chuckling wobblies that would rival Naomi Campbell on a bad day.  If you're kids are older, they're engaged in some infuriating battle of one-upmanship with each other, and their default setting is Snide.

Take my past forty-eight hours.  I've had to work, and I've had a lot of work on.  My work involves taking house-bound people shopping at times.  I don't mind this.  I do mind this when it's two days from Christmas.  As well as client shopping, I've had to attend to my own, and the heat, the crowds, and my exhaustion all meld into some Kafka-esque nightmarish vision of Hell.  Does anybody know the Rolling Stones song 'Before They Make Me Run'? It's performed by Keith Richards, and today it really resonated with me because of the lyrics: 'Gonna find my way to Heaven/'Cause I did my time in Hell...'..  I have had that line in my head on some kind of a loop most of the day.  I've just listened to it properly for the first time in ages.  'Only a crowd can make you feel so alone..'.  Yeah, Keith.  You nailed it today for me.  'Let me walk, before they make me run..'; yeah, I feel your pain.  Keith might have one of the shittiest voices imaginable ('Call the RSPCA, some cruel bastard's force-feeding the cat helium!  Oh, wait...'), but I think he is the only member of the Stones who could have really delivered that song properly.  He seems the most damaged, most wild, most fucked-up.  Mick would not have given it that pathos, and anybody who even would have entertained for one moment the notion of having Bill Wyman perform it should be taken out the back and beaten with a cricket bat.

I worked today for a while, and grabbed a few groceries.  Got myself a treat with an EFTPOS card I was given as an appreciation gesture for judging a poetry competition - a Himalayan salt lamp.  They're reputed to have healing properties when it comes to feeling crappy.  It's got its work cut out for it tonight because I've just been for a drive with two teenaged kids whose default setting, as abovementioned, is Snide.  'Let's look at some pretty Christmas lights,' I said. 'It'll be fun,' I said.  The lights were pretty.  As for the outing? I'm not sure what your idea of fun is, but I bet it doesn't entail trying to negotiate streets, other traffic, gear changes, whilst simultaneously telling the kids to Stop It Now.  To add to the fun, the radio station to which my car is tuned played 'Single Ladies' by Beyonce, and that song shits me to sobs.  I eventually dragged out from my repertoire of Parental Edicts & Threats that old chestnut I swore I would never use, and snarled that I would Stop This Car and they could Just Walk Home.

But you know what? I've made it through another year.  I haven't harmed anyone. I'm going to listen to some Christmas songs I enjoy (think Slade and Ol' 55).

Merry Christmas.

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