Bah, Humbug

This was written in December of 2016, in the middle of an epic bout of depression.  As you might imagine, I couldn’t quite get my jolly on that December. . .

My mood 
simply has no respect 
for the date 
December 7th
the calendar announces 
but I am not cheerful 
holiday spirit 
is not what has been 
filling my soul

I did not realize 
until I moved to this neighborhood 
that competitive 
Christmas decorating 
is a thing
it starts the day after Thanksgiving  
before the turkey and stuffing sandwiches 
have been made 
I feel badly for neighbors 
who are Jewish 
or minimalists 
there is no escaping 
Christmas here

In the past 
I have enjoyed 
the technicolor displays 
ranging from lovely 
to holy 
to more is more
to profane 
I am still mulling 
which category 
the inflatable T-rex 
rocking a Santa hat 
wrapped gift clutched in claws 
falls into. . . 
or what exactly it has to do 
with the birth of Christ. . . 
as such philosophical musings
are beyond me right now

I have tried to fill 
Spotify playlists 
with sprightly holiday tunes 
but they get on my nerves 
and I return to Etta James
Amy Winehouse 
Buddy James
because nothing suits me 
like the blues 
every time I think 
raw edges of my depression 
have started to mend 
they get itchy 
I scratch 
they bleed

No It’s A Wonderful Life
or Polar Express for me 
this weekend 
but there’s always 
How The Grinch Stole Christmas
The Thin Man
William Powell 
Myra Loy 
may have enough snark 
Hell, if all else fails 
there is always Die Hard. . .           

Happy Holidays Everyone

© 2016 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved 
© 2018 Revised Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved



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