the thing about Christmas is there’s no way to experience it in any satisfying way. maybe if you’re playing mary in a pageant, or have a giant, totally jolly family and get every present you wished for. but if you are a regular human, you basically have 2 choices—you can shop in crowded stores for stuff you know was made in hideous factories in china, then hang lights you know you won’t take down until august, then wind up staring at a plate filled with ambrosia salad and green bean surprise, then get corralled into watching football on a giant flat screen [this is just my personal circle of hell; I understand that it is heaven for others].
you can say Not This Year and turn down invitations and not extend any yourself and congratulate yourself for eschewing the over-commercialized, hokey holiday. which winds you up with a long walk along deserted streets lean cuisine in front of a tv show about international house-hunting. feeling sorry for yourself.