I am having one of those days where I am not sure if I am mentally and physically well enough to work. We all have them, but if you are one of the vast numbers of the lower middle class, you do not get to choose: you’re going to work.
My fiance and I have been meaning to go to Kama for a while now. They have one in LaGrange Park where we live, so we made reservations for Valentine's Day.
Before dinner we had hoped to go to a local metaphysical store but saw they were closed Sundays. Instead we wound up wandering LaGrange and driving around Hinsdale, looking at beautiful houses we'll probably never be able to afford. Oh well. If I had that kind of money I probably wouldn't spend it on a house anyway.
I am not a fan of Christmas. Admittedly, there are a few good things about it: the pretty lights, a general spirit of giving, and peppermint lattes. As for the rest of it, I could just soon as do without, especially the one thing that makes Christmas, well, Christmas. That one thing is not holiday cheer, nor is it a sense of peace on Earth and good will towards mankind. It’s certainly not the birth of Christ, though that factors into things.
What Christmas means to me can be summed up in one word: GUILT.
The ancient Greeks had a concept called hubris. When a human got too full of herself, such as Icarus inventing mechanical wings and flying too near the sun or Arachne, spinning gorgeous fabrics and not crediting Athena, her admittedly-jealous God struck her down, sending the proudling’s human progeny down in a chrysalis of flame or turning the boastful weaver into a spider.
You know you've got #firstworldproblems when you have the luxury of complaining about the choices available at restaurants. I get it. I didn't wake up in Syria today. My life is wonderful and I take none of my privileges for granted.