I honestly didn’t see it coming, this time around. Had no idea what you had in store for me. Had even been feeling pretty good mentally; the ghosts that traditionally haunt me this time of year had been quiet. Having gotten over a bad chest cold some weeks before, I had even begun to think I would be allowed to pass through the Yule season without so much as sniffle, much less a loved-one dropping dead.
How many holiday seasons have passed since I could claim that? Certainly not since the previous century have I been able to enjoy such a December.
How silly of me, however, to believe that Christmas Karma wouldn’t manifest itself in some form. I should know better. Of course, dear Christmas, were I to anthropomorphize you – which I suppose I have already done – you would have been thinking “Oh, no. I don’t think so. You’re not getting off that easily; you’re going to have a Merry Fucking Christmas after all.
“In fact I’m going to return to a familiar theme, one that’s always sure to please: Xmas Time in the Hospital. Fa La Fucking La, bitch! But lets not dwell on previous glories; rather, let’s add a new twist. Let’s make you the one that ends up in the hospital this time, eh?”
As I prepare to go under the knife, this Christmas Eve, let me say again, well-played Christmas, well played. And fuck you too.
In the immortal words of seminal West Coast punk band Fear:
but for me, it’s not so great
Fuck Christmas. Fuck Christmas. Fuck Christmas! FUCK CHRISTMAS!