I’ve been seeing a lot of aggressively militant hate-posts against anything Christmas before Thanksgiving. These posts serve to let me know who I can go ahead and un-follow on social media. I mean, it’s not like they’re going to miss me. And it’s not like I even love Christmas or anything, I just won’t miss all their pointless micro-fascist rage. (You know your shit is tired when a cynical, sarcastic, pop-culture atheist like me finds you too bourgeois & boorish to stomach. And I mean, I can put up with a lot of shit. I have a pretty high tolerance for crap. Although, I’m also pretty skilled at ignoring shit, so… whatever man.) Live & let live already. Keep your negativity to yourself.
CLearly I take umbrage because I’ve been decorated for “Christmas” for 3 weeks already. The day I took down the Halloween decorations, I started putting up the winter decorations. I call them winter decorations instead of Christmas decorations, not because I’m an atheist and really don’t do the Christmas thing, but because if I leave them up through Valentine’s day I won’t feel bad about it since winter goes all the way ’til the last week of March. (I’ve got some mad justification & rationalizations skills. Thanks, Mom & Dad!)
This November was the first time I went to look for Christmas decorations at the stores, and they were still getting ready to put the majority of their stock on the shelves. Like, yeah, Christmas stuff was already out in October, but not, like, the GOOD Christmas stuff.
(There really does have to be a pod. The only explanation for this current version of me is a body-snatching invasion-type situation.)
But now, Thanksgiving is this-coming Thursday, and happy about not having to take down fall harvest decorations and put up winter holiday decorations, because that shit is already done! And let’s face it, Thanksgiving is Thursday, and before the clock even strikes mid-night it’s already the Christmas-season. So, boom, look at me… being all efficient and festive and atmospheric an’ shit.
Before I even start proof-reading what I just wrote I resent myself for writing it… because stories in the news make it a struggle to be happy about anything. The Internet is filled with positive affirmations and motivational memes encouraging us to live a happy, positive, peaceful life, yet comment sections are filled with shade hanging over anyone who follows their dream. And I am pre-disposed for guilt. It comes easier than Donald Trump walking through a Miss TEEN pageant dressing room. I never stop thinking about the sadness & suffering in the world. (Wait, this isn’t a depressing piece… keep reading.) I just can’t shake the pain. It never goes away. (No really, keep reading… )
So… I channel my spirit animal, which – if it’s not obvious – is an armadillo… heh, a little corny holiday joke there, snort, chuckle, wink… obviously my spirit animal is a cat. And not just because I like cats… I mean… *I went to the place and I did the thing, and I meditated the meditation like Happy Gilmore, and my spirit animal is a cat.
[*Fictionalized for entertainment purposes. As always, no worshiping.]
It’s true, though, my husband does call me The Cat Whisperer. He’s convinced I have some amazing connection and magical understanding of cats… which I do, don’t get me wrong, but… let’s face it all cat-lovers do. We’re cat lovers… we ARE the chosen people.
Oh, and just like my regular cats, my spirit animal cat spends most of it’s time either ignoring me, or wanting me to feed it.
But I try to look at the natural world and see it the way the wind sees it, or the way a cats sees it… and so on. And nature just keeps on being nature. And if I were in a refugee camp seeing my children burned alive, and that poor woman was in a townhouse in Anytown, U.S.A. writing a blog post and doing her laundry in a crappy old scratch-n-dent washer and dryer, she would feel sad and her heart would break, too. But she would have to keep living her life.
Man, I guess this is kind of a bummer after all… especially if you hate cats, too. But if you hate cats, you obviously have your own problems. I mean, 100% of every murderer in the history of recorded homicides are committed by people who hate cats. *Look it up. It’ll take a week or so to do all that research, but you’ll see I’m right. Every murderer ever… also hated cats.
[*Might not be true. Allocated taxes used to continue research were cut by the current administration. Too busy to start a Go-Fund-Me page right now. “But I believe it is true.”)
But in my mind, someone is reading this with a smell making its way through the vents of pies baking in the oven, and if you’re not, you can imagine what that’s like. You’re stuck in an airport, or on a bus, or in the bathroom because those Brussels’s sprouts really did a number on you, or someone made cauliflower mashed potatoes instead of potato mashed-potatoes and didn’t tell you and now you have to follow the dog around just so you can blame it.
Strangers reading my blog post in their in-laws’ bathrooms because they have diarrhea. These are my fantasies now. Thanks menopause.
This year I’m thankful for knowing I have no reason to complain because things could definitely be worse.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put up more cheap, crappy decorations so I can make everyone’s Thanksgiving memory feel like a goddamned Norman Rockwell painting or some shit; and be happy as fuck while I do it. Because it’s okay if I fucking do that.
Please enjoy this picture of me and my spirit animal. I’d tell you his name, but he says, “A cat HAS NO name.”
My spirit animal loves Games of Thrones. Probably. I mean, I imagine…