Suprise, I'm cynical again

I want to start by telling you I’m not a writer. I don’t have these dreams of one day making it big, being acclaimed and all. I just want to tell a story and hope that some of you have the time to read it.

I always begin in the same way. It’s always the same way. I talk about where I am, what I’m doing, who I hate. I want it to be different this time. I want to have some glorious idea that I can’t stop writing about. Sadly, I don’t think I’ll ever get to that point.

Mortality is slapping me in the face, taunting me, wanting me to just give him and announce to the world, yes, I will die. I’ll die alright, I have enough habits to ensure it will happen, but before I do, I want there to be some big deal, something that will turns heads and say, “Hey, remember that guy Charlie? You do? Or wow, do you remember the time when…”, as I’m six feet under and smiling at my accomplishments.

I’m not there yet, wherever that is. In fact, I’m still struggling with finding the beginning, the gear that gets the machine in motion. Fuck, sometimes I could just scream out of frustration. It’s the unknown that kills me.

Christmas is approaching and all I can do is bite my lip. I mean, I want to contribute but it goes against all of my core beliefs. I want to be like everyone else and mask my contempt of consumerism but I can’t.

I’ve disappointed a lot people because of it. They call me cheap because I have a hard time conforming to the idea of their Christmas. Instead, I chew on my lip and fill myself with anxiety because I can’t go to malls, I can’t be around the drones of people, and it makes me far too anxious.

The whole time I’m there I think about how sad their lives are and how I never want to be one of them. I think about how fat people can get, how spoiled their children can be, whether or not they washed their hands after going to the washroom; I think about fecal matter and traces of urine on every door handle, every item of food being served, on every snot nosed kid who doesn’t even have the decency to turn away and cough.

And you wonder why I hate the masses?

I’ve even tried shopping online. Oh boy, store after store of needless things. I could just pick anything. I mean, that’s all that way, some expression of monetary love, but I can’t even do that. Everything just looks so bland and I hate it. So yeah, I guess it’s another year of being judged for not ‘giving’.

I have a little nephew and a brother who are the only people I’d really shop for. After talking to dad, I find out my brother already is getting an IPOD Nano and a computer for Christmas. I mean, really… why should I even bother getting him more?

My stomach rolls over just thinking about how many thousand will be spent on him. I don’t think I’d feel good about it, to give him one more thing he can throw into his pile. I hope you can see why I find it all so sickening. So I tell him he already has enough.

Brad, my - insert defination of relationship here - suggested I should get carbon credits for my family members.

You can make a cash donation to reduce carbon emissions and put it in someone else’s name. It sounds like a terrific idea. Only, I know they’ll hate me for it. They would think I’m crazy and tell me what a waste it is and only I will see the irony of it all.

For Christmas this year, I think I’ll help save the planet in my family’s name.