Sinister: Santa Claus is coming....

[idleberry]

I was going to write to you, about the Usher Hall gig,
but I couldn't be bothered, and decided "someone else
will do it". 

So it's my last week at work, before we break up for
Christmas. I thought this week was going to be
chaotic, and it has, a bit, but not in the way I
thought it would be. O me, O the Pessimist. I find it
works out better that way though. 

I can really feel Christmas descending rather rapidly
upon my life. I've been casually ignoring it, but I
feel unable to do so anymore. My boyfriend is more
organised than I am, having already done some of his
christmas shopping. I think he surprised himself too -
he nearly bought more presents for the people he'd
already bought presents for, becuase he forgot he'd
bought presents for them already, and wasn't used to
being so organised. 

As for me, well, I think I'm going to have to blitz
it. Go out for a day and bang bang bang, run from shop
to shop like I'm on Supermarket Sweep, only
remembering to pay for things.

I'm not that fussed about Christmas as I used to be.
Christmas when you're a kid is great. Santa was a bit
scary though. I didn't really understand why my
parents were comfortable with an old man creeping into
my bedroom to put things into my socks when I was
asleep. I didn't totally believe in him, but there was
always the nagging doubt that he did exist. The doubt
that had me hiding under the duvet at 2am, when I'd
woken in the middle of the night, too scared to come
out, and sweating with fear incase I saw him. Or at
3am, when I was too scared to go down stairs, even
though he'd filled my stocking, in case he hadn't
finished his delivery. I would often sit and go
through my stocking presents, and look and play with
the toys. And then I'd creep into my little brothers
room, have a nosey through his stocking, and swap my
tangerines with his chocolate bars, before waking him
up, so he could "officially" open his stocking, and
I'd feign surprise as he'd show me the cool toys he'd
got. I don't know if he ever worked out why he always
got 6 tangerines and no chocolate from Santa. Still, I
did him a favour. He never ended up with fillings in
his teeth. 

I'd go and wake my parents, around 4am, to take me
down stairs and start opening my presents. One year, I
woke every hour between 1 and 7am, and went to see my
parents and woke them up and asked "can we go and see
if Santa's been yet?". Impatient child that I was.
When I got older, around 10 or so, I worked out that
if I set my dad's alarm clock an hour forward, then
he'd get up earlier. That was the year he said "I'm
not getting up until 7am". I was so tired, I ended up
going back to bed. And dad? Well, he woke at what he
thought was 7:30am, and felt horribly guilty for
sleeping in, and came to wake me and my brother, to
open our presents. It was boxing day before I told him
that I'd set his alarm clock forward by an hour. I
hope I never have a child like me, when I'm older. 

Snogs and mistletoe,

idles
x



=====
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