Christmas Saddles Under Crisp Eyes

I have already become numbed to the festive season and we are still eight days short of Christmas eve. Whether I have become jaded and cynical, or weighed down with a peculiar form of depression I do not know but there is no excitement in my bones. Im certainly not looking forward to it like an over eager child, straining at the leash.
Of course when we reach our adult years one is bound to adopt a less dizzy attitude toward Christmas as children have the upper hand in this holiday due to their innocence still allowing the belief of Santa Claus and the promise of loot under the tree, but its deeper than that. There is no 'zip' in in my soul, no spring in my step as we hurtle toward the goose feast. Even when writing empty emotions on cards I feel a giant weight in my hand (perhaps due to my brain knowing that what is being scrawled among the glitter and red robins is bunkum, total bosh).
It wasn't always this way; growing up this time of year I was as full of magic and wonder as any carefree child. As soon as December hit the calendar I would begin striking off the days, pulling the season in with every stroke of my pen. I would even listen out for bells ringing in the night sky and searching for a streak of red among the stars on Christmas eve. Nothing bad in it I believed, totally seduced by the festive charm.
How different it all feels today as I hammer (the correct word considering my mood) at the keyboard, a giant starry boughed tree in the background like some kind of green ogre threatening me to be jolly or else. A rubber inflatable Santa lurks beneath it with a deranged smile painted on its face, eager to throttle me should I turn my back on him.
Is it me or have Christmas decorations taken a turn for the worse? Cards long ago discarded any semblance of taste and now the baubels and plastic trinkets have gone the same miserable route. Shelves heave with cheap sparkling ornaments, and grotesque looking figures of the Nativity which would be more fitting in a chamber of horrors rather than a window sill.
Were it left to me I would choose a black tree and hang miniture nooses and electric chairs from it while adding bloodied fake body parts from Halloween to achieve a grisly effect, echoing the gloom in my heart. The fake cheer has rattled around my ribcage long enough, im quite ready to heave it out.
I try not being a ghoulish grinch and would welcome relief from the grey chain which sag heavily on my shoulders, but nothing is there. One cannot revive a heart so stubbornly set in gloom, especially since the spirit is gone. Perhaps im being overly melodramatic in the last sentence but things do seem rather dismal as we get deeper into December.
One thing I am grateful for is the fact I rarely watch television because if the titbits I have seen and magazine headlines are anything to go by then FSO (Festive Season Overdose) are on the cards for many poor souls. The Christmas Specials of yesteryear have disappeard into the ether, leaving way for vile bumper doses of reality based talent shows and preening, self absorbed minor celebrities caked in make up. It is truly wretched.
Everything is over done, and the true meaning of the occasion is almost ignored totally. But to remind anyone of this is to be called a sourface, or old fashioned. I enjoy a drink much more than the next man but I always have time to stop and raise a toast to the holy man. Some people think Christmas as a giant gift fest with the chance to show off astounding gluttony. (Saying that its always nice to watch these empty headed mortals suffer in the following days from the vulgar binges).
In November I decided to celebrate Thanksgiving, and a turkey was roasted and served with other fine foods. Being Welsh it was a no frills affair, there were no carols sung and tinsel giddy trees did not stand moronically in the corner like a scolded child. It was basic, a fine dinner with thanks being offered that we had it. Furthermore there was no tsunami of wrapping paper to get rid of, and nobody cried for the gift they did not get.
It was how I envisioned Christmas to have been in the begining. Before advertisers and other sharks sniffed blood and packaged and sold it to the greedy like a desperate whore.
Humanity has a special gift for ruin. Ho ho ho ho.