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Twas Christmas night and all the gifts have been opened, the family dinner has been cooked, eaten and digested by now, the traveling back home from my mother’s house has been made in the overload haze of holiday cheer. As I unwind from the holiday onslaught, that had started after Halloween, it becomes, as it does every year, depressing that all that build up and anticipation for one day is over, and that one day has come and in a few short hours, will be gone.

Ever since I was a little girl, believing in Santa Claus or not, I grew sad on Christmas night because I realized that the next day was only another countdown to next year’s Christmas. 364 days seemed like an awfully long time to wait once again for Christmas. Having become an adult, I feel pretty much the same, realizing with the same despair that all that preparation is only going to come round again in less than 364 days, much less.

The overkill of the marketing, merchandising and materialism of Christmas becomes onerous. The true spirit of Christmas does negate most of those less than positive feelings, and I will try to keep the true spirit of Christmas alive and well in my heart and not get so depressed this year after the holidays. I think that perhaps if Christmas wasn’t so close to the end of the old year, maybe I wouldn’t be so melancholy. The thought of a new year, which essentially means another year added to my collection of years, makes me a little sad. I get attached to the age I am for the short year that lets me be that age, I don’t particularly enjoy giving up that year, I got good at being that age, why ruin a good thing?