A Curious Girl: Christmas moanings

How on earth does she think I am going to write a 1500 word essay? I have only written half that much. I am just going to write a conclusion and then hand it in. I cannot be bothered.

To be sure, there are probably ways I could have done it. But not tonight.

Let's just say I couldn't really get my heart into it. 1500 words? She must be kidding.

Feeling a bit egocentric, and wanting to know if the search engines had finally worked out that I exist, I searched for 'sweet-indigo'. They have found me at last. Also I found these rather crap lyrics. And some herbal remedies site selling off sweet indigo. Funny really. And I thought sweet indigo was all my own. But as usual it was just the product of something my brain had previously stored and forgotten its source. Everything repeats itself. This is depressing, but true.

Didn't do much today, except talk about Detling and Christmas, and the conclusion to both seemed to be a compromise. Detling seems hopeful if Mum can buy a tent. She and Clive had a good rant this morning, but they both cooled down eventually, Mum looking through catalogues, and phoning Bill. As for Christmas, well what can I say? I asked if I could go to Church on Christmas day, and Mum originally said yes, but the service is between 10 and 11 and Clive said this will be difficult as he wants to see Margaret. Mum wants to see Margaret too. She gave me some spiel about Christmas being a family time, and I could probably go to Frindsbury Baptist, maybe, or go with Stephen to Midnight Mass at English Martyrs. Don't get me wrong. These are both wonderful ideas for being close to my best friend on his birthday. OK, so for preference I wouldn't go to either of these Churches, and go to Gillingham, but let me confess, I don't just want to go to Church because of Jesus. Jesus certainly comes into the reason why I would much rather go to Gillingham, but I have 'family' there too, and it would be nice to get together with a family that doesn't view Christmas as 'annual roast and games day with a little Jesus if we absolutely have to'.

But this sounds selfish. So, maybe I'll just take the Midnight Mass option after all.

I went to the carol service, and I didn't really get into it. It seems far too early. Usually carol services are on the fourth Sunday, but this year Christmas is on a Monday, so it was on the third instead. Bah Humbug. I told Christina about the Christmas troubles and she seemed to be a bit apathetic. I told her Mum had said Frindsbury and she seemed to be saying, "Oh that'll be boring don't bother." I don't think she realised I was genuinely upset. But she doesn't know that last year I practically cried my eyes out because Mum didn't understand that I want to celebrate the real meaning of Christmas. And three years ago I felt practically mocked as I went to English Martyrs with a bunch of people who didn't care and went because one of us (not me) saw it as our duty.

Jeez. And all this for one extra Church service a year.

Sometimes, Christmas day is the day I feel furthest from Jesus. Clive always moans at me when I make some remark as to the commercial nature of the celebration which used to be for his birth. Sometimes I really wish people would wake up. So I will make peace and offer to go with Stephen.

It's at times like this Christmas seems like one big ugly farce. The true meaning of Christmas is Easter.

Oh well, the only thing this entry has done is depress me. Or clarify my annoyance. At least I know what to do now. Although maybe next year, instead of getting fat and rich with Christmas money, I will do something worthwhile.

Eight days to go!

Random word for today:

<< last entry ... next entry >>
top of page

Give food for free.