It’s been a long time since I have written you. I thought I would give it a go again because my list is long, my bank account is low, and I’ve been a very good girl this year. Okay, there were maybe about two months where I was stressed and emotionally burnt out over the wedding so I was kind of being a bitch, but that’s not typical. Otherwise, I should totally be near the top of your Nice List. So, Santa, this Christmas, can you puh-leeze deliver…
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Hey girl. Bad news. Your heavily decal-ed, excessively red-and-green, badly doodled nail art is ruining Christmas. Not to be a Scrooge, but that melty-faced Santa on your thumb might as well be a lump of coal in my stocking. I’m all for getting in the holiday spirit and if you’re headed to an Ugly Christmas Sweater Party, by all means, do your nails up to match — but don’t you dare fool yourself into thinking these 30 manicures are anything but ho-ho-ho-horrrrrible.
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When I first read about the life-size, world record-setting gingerbread house that had been erected in Texas, I was ready to pack my bags and move in. I mean, 39,000 edible cubic feet of gingerbread, frosting, candy canes, and lollipops? Life dream status! But alas, some things that seem like a dream true are actually a nightmare in disguise. In the case of my beloved gingerbread house, the nightmare came in the form of 2,000 bees who have reportedly infested the sugary structure. A beekeeper was brought in to relocate the swarm, but the anxiety caused by the possibility of their return would probably cause me to emotionally eat the entire living room. Because if there’s one thing that’s stronger than my love of gingerbread, it’s my fear of bees. Sigh. I suppose my gingerbread house dream will have to be put on hold, yet again. [Oddity Central]
I hate the term holiday blues. I think that’s because when I was 19, December rolled around and I fell into a full-blown depression, complete with sleepless nights, loss of appetite and thoughts of suicide. The holiday blues sound like an uptempo jazz standard compared to the nightmarish thoughts blaring in my head. I’m hardly the only college student who has teetered on the brink of a breakdown. It’s practically a cliche to experience some sort of mental and emotional suffering when you’re that age. But at the time, it didn’t feel like a cliche. It felt like the fight of my life, the recovery from which, with the help of therapy, was an epic journey up from an underworld I feared I might inhabit for the rest of my life. Months later, sitting in my therapist’s office, trying to solve a Rubick’s Cube that she kept on her desk, I clicked one row of orange squares together and felt a spark of hope. I woke up the next morning and thought, What’s for breakfast? I knew I was doing a lot better — at least enough to begin to function again.
I’ve never suffered another episode of depression, but ever since then, I’ve never experienced a happy holiday season either. I know that this is a particularly difficult time of year for many people. Especially those who suffer from Seasonal Affective Disorder or those who are grappling with more tangible hardships like financial struggles or a death in the family. I wish I could say I had a definitive reason to feel so meh in December. It’s much harder to pin down my discomfort around this time of year because it’s not related to my external circumstances — I have a wonderful family, great friends, a happy relationship and a job I love. I have much to be grateful and joyous about and I know it. The thing is, I consider myself a more-or-less happy person — at least for big pockets of time year-round. I understand how to access joy more often as I get older — positive thoughts, low expectations, balance. Even still, at this time of year, despite my best efforts, despite all my blessings, I find myself hanging on tight and crossing my fingers that I don’t spiral into darkness again. Keep reading »
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