'Tis the season, dear readers. I have recently been discharged from University in preparation for the inevitable finals, the end of term, and Christmas. I am firmly of the belief that I have everything in order, school-wise, to be able to study steadily during this week while still taking leisurely advantage of the sudden excess of free time that has been bestowed upon me.
Also, finally, it has snowed in my city, and it looks like the white stuff is here to stay, thank God. You Americans ever wonder why Canadians are so polite? How do you think we keep warm in the winter? Yes, through the heat of our fiery repressed rage! To take out our anger about the Vatican or the re-election of George W Bush and his long-lost brother Ralph Klein, we don't bitch to the media (or most of us don't, anyway) or have long, perilous riots outside of the Legislature, or go bomb another country, we put it to good use on our sidewalks and driveways, to scour off the layers of snow and ice! Yes, rage - while not morally safe, it is both available and affordable at all times, and doesn't burn through the ozone layer.
While I certainly feel less vengeful (I have shoveled the driveway twice this week already), some other emotion has started to take a hold of me. Over the recent years, I have noticed a strange apathy towards Christmas come over me during the holiday season - for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to feel as excited about it as I used to. This year, I noticed a happy return to the anticipation of yore - I was already feeling the half-pleasurable-half-uncomfortable tug in my gut that I usually experience only on Christmas Eve or when I am complimented expressly by my relatives - as early as November. While I felt happy that I could undergo the same masochistic pleasure that every young child feels as Christmas draws near - the painful desire to have Christmas be now while at the same time not yet because the waiting was so much fun - it seemed to burst some other, ill-defined emotional dam that had previously kept my less desirable feelings in check.
It all started when I saw a commercial on TV for Canadian Tire. In it, a child asked his father how Santa was going to come and give them presents when they didn't have a fireplace. The father replied that Santa would figure it out because he was very clever. However, while the parents are shopping at Canadian Tire for gifts, the child weeps, "Santa's not coming because we don't have a fireplace!" while screen shows the boy's nightmare of seeing an empty tree. I don't believe in Santa, nor do I approve of his work ethic (The elves work all year round, all you do is drive the sleigh - stop being so damn full of yourself!), but somehow, I just felt so incredibly depressed. Tears welled up in my eyes for the child who "didn't have a fireplace" (the parents acquiesce to his wishes by buying a fireplace - which sort of reminds me of that story of the mom who sold her father's ghost on Ebay because her child was convinced he was haunting the house), and I came close to sobbing. Why? I had no emotional connection to the advertisement, heck, I can barely write about it now without tearing up.
What was worse, was that my newfound sensitivity to all things cute or attempting to cute was not limited solely to misinformed children with fears that they aren't going to get what they wanted because they are greedy little bastards at heart. I was forced to sniffle into my sleeve during a Telus commercial! The one where the chameleons have a stampede with the cowboy music and duel with the piglet who has a cellphone! What could possibly be important or significant or depressing about a pig who doesn't want to share?? Chameleons have no feelings! Damn you, Babe! Damn you!
I am really going to have to get a hold on my feelings once more - because I don't want to have to explain to my parents why I'm weeping over Snoop Dogg's incompetence with fabric softener or the Honeybee's unrequited love for Honey-Nut Cheerios.