Today I'm in a holiday mood. Sitting at work sipping coffee wishing I was warming my toes aside some crackling fire, listening to Perry Como ring throughout crimson & emerald reminders that 'tis in fact THE season.
My whole life I've anticipated the day I can afford to buy the Christmas gifts I envision the people I love glowing over, a true appreciation glistening in their eyes, serving as a reminder holidays are about the ultimate gift, that of the heart.
Nothing can steal a smile like the realization you've chosen right. The idea that you know another so well, you were able to evoke that oh-so-cultivated reactionary mix of both surprise and pleasure, one worthy only of genuinely thoughtful gift-giving. There's no comparison.
Living in the sun, I've objectively sacrificed days spent dedicated to lounging at the cabin, drinking in the season while gulping down Brandy Alexanders amid the fresh scent of pine and sweet sound of familial laughter.
Although I've gained immensely through this sunny sacrifice, today, I don't care. Today I want Christmas, and the kind of Christmas I've come to know.
I want the chill of snow and the comfort of too-tightly wrapped sweaters fighting gallantly to keep out the nip.
I want snowflake mugs full of chocolate- toasty marshmallows floating precariously, all the while awaiting an inevitable doom, an unavoidable fate- the slow melt into a sugary depth.
I want bow bags and big boxes for paper used strictly for sentiment- a waste of resources with an emotional significance so mighty, the mere thought of going without offends even the lowest of holiday spirits.
I want parties and pastries, mistletoe and magic. I want to illuminate little fresh faces with snow-turned pink noses about the adventures of Ruldolph and his (if not slightly judgmental...) furry friends.
So although I do love those loved ones of mine, they might still have to wait a bit for those oh-so-precious presents I've envisioned. Hopefully that will just enhance what I see when I do arrive- a journey, that by evidence of my bank account,
I think I just began.
(144 days to go..hehe)
My whole life I've anticipated the day I can afford to buy the Christmas gifts I envision the people I love glowing over, a true appreciation glistening in their eyes, serving as a reminder holidays are about the ultimate gift, that of the heart.
Nothing can steal a smile like the realization you've chosen right. The idea that you know another so well, you were able to evoke that oh-so-cultivated reactionary mix of both surprise and pleasure, one worthy only of genuinely thoughtful gift-giving. There's no comparison.
Living in the sun, I've objectively sacrificed days spent dedicated to lounging at the cabin, drinking in the season while gulping down Brandy Alexanders amid the fresh scent of pine and sweet sound of familial laughter.
Although I've gained immensely through this sunny sacrifice, today, I don't care. Today I want Christmas, and the kind of Christmas I've come to know.
I want the chill of snow and the comfort of too-tightly wrapped sweaters fighting gallantly to keep out the nip.
I want snowflake mugs full of chocolate- toasty marshmallows floating precariously, all the while awaiting an inevitable doom, an unavoidable fate- the slow melt into a sugary depth.
I want bow bags and big boxes for paper used strictly for sentiment- a waste of resources with an emotional significance so mighty, the mere thought of going without offends even the lowest of holiday spirits.
I want parties and pastries, mistletoe and magic. I want to illuminate little fresh faces with snow-turned pink noses about the adventures of Ruldolph and his (if not slightly judgmental...) furry friends.
So although I do love those loved ones of mine, they might still have to wait a bit for those oh-so-precious presents I've envisioned. Hopefully that will just enhance what I see when I do arrive- a journey, that by evidence of my bank account,
I think I just began.
(144 days to go..hehe)
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