After monumental occasions in life, events such as a
wedding, birth of a child or moving house it’s not unusual to sink into a bit
of a lull. When the excitement and stress leave the body they take away the
heightened state of emotions and often all the endorphins and adrenaline pumped
around your system to maintain the mania. A drop in mood is almost inevitable.
If, like me, you lead a cushy life without any major things
happening in it (marriage 3 ½ years ago, no children, last moved house 14 years
ago) then this post event downer doesn’t happen very much.
Unless you love Christmas and have just combined Papa Noel’s
favourite time of year with the longest time you’ve had off work in the almost
17 years you’ve been doing that shit. Which is what I’ve just done, obviously.
Would be an odd thing to write otherwise.
Once any autumn celebration events were out of the way (my
birthday and the generally uncelebrated by me Halloween and Bonfire Night) I
switched into Christmas mode. A countdown post-it was installed on my computer
at work, marking down from 37 days till I was breaking up for the
aforementioned longest holiday. I bought two Christmas jumpers, not because it
is now the thing to do, but because, as I’ve mentioned, I love Christmas. When
Costa switched to using their festive cups my excitement crept up, as it did
when the Christmas adverts started appearing. I bought a load of Christmas CDs
and didn’t listen to anything else for ages. By the end of November I was
practically giddy with excitement. Did I mention I was about to have the
longest time off work I’ve had? 20 days! 20!
I used to dislike Christmas shopping, the pressure of buying
for family and friends exacerbated by having a wife whose birthday is on
Christmas Day. Whereas I enjoy buying presents for people, the feeling that I
was lagging behind in my present schedule would genuinely sit over my December
like a cloud. Yet this year I started early and actually found it quite
straightforward; we’d made a load of jam, chutneys and pickles at the end of
summer and we added candles, soaps and chocolates to this, not in a last-minute
panic but perfectly planned out so everything was ready on time. These made a
nice homemade gift accompaniment for people. I also quickly made headway into
Hannah’s Christmas/birthday double present extravaganza and found it relatively
easy finding gifts for even the most difficult family member.
This allowed me to enjoy December from the start as the tree
came out to make the house look 10 times better. It’s nice to come home to a
house lit with lights, festive candles and covered in Christmas bobbins, just
makes it a nicer place to live. I’d use the word ‘cosy’ if it wasn’t a daft
word to use for a man pretending he’s not about to turn 40.
So December was great, with plenty of time to wander around
festive shops, eat, drink, watch crap telly and generally relax.
Yet, if I enjoy anything there is always a bad point. If I
could pick one part of my personality that I’d remove it’s the inability I have
to fully enjoy something because there is a part at the back of my head
counting down till the good thing ends. So I found myself 5 days into my 20
days off mourning that I was now a quarter of the way into my holiday. And this
feeling just got worse, I woke up on Christmas Eve feeling glum as I was now
into the second half of this time off. I should have been gearing up for the
day after, the apex of all this celebration, the days of swapping presents,
eating too much and necking booze while watching Christmas specials. Why do I
do this to myself? I’m the same when actually on holiday somewhere, if I sense
I’m having a good time I feel the need to work out how long it’ll be before
we’re heading home. I suspect these feelings would be lessened if I didn’t hate
my job as much, yet I also realise that I’m just a miserable old sod, scared to
actually have fun, frightened to fully embrace and love anything for the fear
that one day it’ll be gone.
So, as you can guess by now, New Year was a time of gloom,
as I was returning to work on the 2nd January. I hate New Year
anyway, with the death of Christmas, my 3 week Christmas, it was almost
unbearable. Because I’ve very rarely in my 39 years on this planet had to deal
with anything truly unbearable, I think the end of time off work is the worst
thing imaginable. What a ridiculous man.
I took the Christmas tree down last night, feeling genuinely
sad as I packed everything away into boxes and popped them up in the loft for another
11 months. Do you remember that silly whale bauble I bought from John Lewis?
Heh, our tree isn’t that of a pair of adults is it? We never did fix Santa’s
broken arm.
Because there is a part of me that knows I’m generally
blessed and have never had to face any horrible trauma in my life, and therefore
I fear that next time I bring those Christmas decorations down, unpack the
jumpers and sip hot chocolate out of a festive Costa cup something bad will
have happened to make the weeks off from work a less jolly occasion than it
should be. You see, I’m not only a ridiculous man, I’m a selfish one, worried
some unknown sadness will spoil his Christmas.
I am being slightly unfair to myself here, it’s easier to
focus on the effect a bad thing has on Christmas rather than the trauma of the bad
thing itself.
But of course the chances are next year I’ll still be as
lucky as I am, just a little older and probably contemplating a midlife crisis.
Once again there’ll be a post-it note on my desk and I’ll smile as I unpack the
Christmas decorations, remarking again that we’re a pair of children. Yet
maybe, just maybe, this time I’ll enjoy the whole thing, not just the
anticipation of the time off but the actual 20 days sitting around eating
snacks off festive plates and devouring biscuits from the Christmas cookie jar.
Well, we’re allowed a New Year resolution aren’t we?
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