I really hate Christmas. I hate that right now the entire world is saturated with gifts and presents and that tomorrow a gazillion bratty kids will wake up to rooms full of presents while my kid, who had the fucking patience of a saint isn’t even going to get a fucking stocking.

I would do what my mom used to do. She hated Christmas about as much as I do, and she was horrible to me from Thanksgiving on. Then on Christmas eve, when the guilt was too much, she’d go and write bad checks for gifts to assuage her guilt. Then the bills would come in January and she was back to being horrible again. But if I do that today, we’ll be homeless by February.

I hate all the fucking good cheer and hopefulness. I hate that every single thing on TV either tells me what a miserable parent I am cause I can’t fill the house with toys or shows some sappy fucking movie where everything works out in the end cause Santa shows up. There is no Santa. It doesn’t matter how good you are, or how awesome your kid is. It doesn’t matter if you’ve been good or bad. Actually, if you’ve been bad, selfish and small minded and ruthless, you’re probably going to have a better Christmas for it.

I hate that I can’t give the Kid anything. I hate that he is so understanding about it. If he were awful then I could at least justify it. I could tell myself that he’s too materialistic or bratty. But he’s not. He’s just a sweet, tenderhearted little monkey and I am terrified that he is going to be crushed tomorrow because I don’t have any magic tricks up my sleeve.

I hate Christmas. And now I have to go put on a happy face and pretend like this isn’t the crappiest Christmas ever and I’m not the biggest fucking failure as a parent. I’m so broke I can’t even afford booze to drink myself into happy.

I truly hope the rest of you have a much better holiday.