The Greatest Christmas EF-U-Song

I was standing in a packed aisle of a department store; wildly perusing unoccupied shelves for the next gift on my list. The delirium of the crowded store pushed up against my senses, creating a dizzying effect akin to inebriation. The music of the season plowed through the PA system above as it began to water-board me into submission. I was in a frosted white, winter-fuck me-wonderland! Christmas music is ok when it’s played on Christmas Eve, Christmas day, maybe even a week before Christmas; and only in moderation. I’m okay with those terms. But there are some nut jobs out there who will blast that shit from November till the end of December.
Six years ago, while working in a small office, my supervisor would bring in Christmas CDs by mid-November and crank out Christmas chanteys till our ears bled eggnog. So now, when December rolls around, I manage my PTSD by maintaining a safe distance from retail stores, malls, flea markets, bodegas.
This year, “I had to be different,” I thought as I retracted myself from a thousand yard stare and grumbled at having waited till Christmas Eve to finish buying Christmas gifts. And as I stood squeezing out annoyance with a Nerf football; something magical happened. The opening bars of my savior began to cram its melody over the store PA. THE GREATEST CHRISTMAS FUCK YOU SONG EVER WRITTEN!

The annoyed voice of a twenty-something hipster moaned from the next aisle over. My Personal Jesus had delivered the goods once again, successfully pissing off John Q. Public. Glancing across the aisles, as people turned their noses up in hoity disgust, I relished in the itchy irritation of embarrassment instigated by this song. Restraining my absurd smile, I walked up to a register, grabbed a handfull of gift cards and walked out the sliding doors; leaving the hysteria of the holiday behind.

Beautiful Distraction

Its five minutes till midnight and I can’t come up with a decent concept to write about.  I’ve been lugging around writers block on my shoulders for the past few months and have been going stir crazy sitting at home trying to deliver the goods for this month’s essay.  11:57 P.M. and time is running out.  I thought about how much television I’ve been consuming over the past few months and how I equate this to a woman I use to know, a woman I referred to as a, “beautiful distraction,” but I couldn’t paste two sentences together to make a decent paragraph, so I dropped that idea.  I thought about how my writers block and my lack of gainful employment could somehow be connected.  Half way through my second paragraph I realized that I hate work, or should I say I don’t care much for the types of jobs I am qualified to do.  That idea was tossed.  Then I thought about addiction. How a constant revolving maelstrom affects not only the sufferer but those around them.  I thought about the fight that many endure 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.  What promises they make and break on the daily; just to wake up and exist.  Just to quiet their nerves.  I thought about the junkies and drunkies I know.  The shopaholics, gamblers, TV addicts.  The porn addicts, the sex addicts and the rage freaks.  I thought about these concepts profoundly.  Trying to make sense of the dilemma at hand.  Trying to write a few days worth of work into 5 minutes.  Trying to beat the demons of procrastination. Trying to kick start my brain without succumbing to the addictive glow of TV and Taco Bueno.  Then I realized it was almost 12:30 A.M.  December 1st.  I had missed my deadline.