The play

My problem is, I can't even remember a happy christmas. I mean a happy one, a really happy one - happy as in those silly television commercials, or in those movies we can now watch on the telly. It's not that they were bad - I just remember them as I remember my childhood, a time that passed with nothing really relevant happening. But it changed some years ago. Before I wasn't happy, but I wasn't sad either; I had in me a feeling of indifference, as if that time of the year mattered little (which it did). I don't remember what happened some years ago, or what changed; I do know, though, that at some point christmas became a sad time of the year, one that every year I wished to pass swiftly and without much trouble. I could say that one gets used to everything but there's no way I can get used to it. Not because it's christmas, but because I just don't like to feel the way I do, regardless of the season. Nonetheless, it has started, and now it cannot be helped. A long act will be played by myself, one that I've played year after year with relative success. At least from the way everyone around me sees it. For I know what it truly means, and I know what I have to bear for the sake of something I cannot even name. One more time. I'll handle it. Next year we'll see.