I went to the gym today, so I simultaneously think that I am dying and also that I am the strongest person that has ever existed. My arms feel like jell-o, and I’ve negotiated that into spending the entire day in bed, watching Parks and Recreation and wearing sweatpants. That, however, is a full-time job, so I don’t feel bad in the slightest.
And my room, which has a certain cavelike allure since it’s at the back corner of my house, is illuminated, chicly, by several strings of fairy lights. Every year, since I was a kid, I have put Christmas lights over my bed and around my room. When I was a little kid, it was so I could read after my mom made me turn off my bedside lamp. When I grew up, and learned that reading is for dorks—TV rules!!!!1!—they became purely for aesthetics.
(I’m lying about reading. Reading rules. Also, I did the fairy lights because I was shit-scared of the dark as a child and medium-adult.)
This year, I had put Christmas lights up in August to make my room feel Tumblr-y, so when I came home from London I plugged them in. They are warm and inviting and remind me of Christmas and hot cocoa and freezing my ass off.
And even though this year the temperature isn’t exactly North Pole-ish, I love having Christmas traditions to fall back on.
One of my fam’s favorite Christmas traditions is Secret Santa, or Kris Kringle, or whatever else you want to call it. We put our names into a hat, pick out a slip of paper, and buy a present for that person. This year I have my (name redacted for Kris Kringle purposes) and now I have to buy them a present. We exchange the Secret Santa presents on Christmas Eve, and then we get our Christmas pajamas.
I totally thought that Christmas pajamas were a thing that only we did, but “apparently” it’s a “popular thing to do.” Idk, it feels like y’all are jacking my family swag. After we get into our pajamas, which I will take off for actual sleeping because I sleep like I’m about to get robbed and need to be ready to flee—running shorts and a t-shirt—we take a family drive around the neighborhood to look at the luminaries.
Luminaries are brown paper lunchbags that have been filled with sand. They are lined along the sidewalks and a candle is lit inside each one. We have been getting lit for many years, and it is so ~dope~ and one of my favorite things. Then we drive around the neighborhood, judging everyone else’s Christmas decorations. Some are chic. Some are tragic. Note to everyone: blue Christmas tree lights are never a good idea. Shut it down.
And in the morning, we eat cinnamon rolls and open presents and get jealous over which child will be the most favored by Santa that year. Then we get dressed and go to family parties and then I go on Twitter. It’s a Christmas miracle.
Even though I’m pretty sure I never believed in Santa—I don’t know why, he just always seemed fishy—I’m really excited for Christmas because I love presents sooo much. And also, like, giving them or w/e.
And also, even though we are 23, 20, and 18, we still leave out milk and cookies for Santa, and my mother will still sign certain gifts from Santa. Even though she doesn’t even bother switching up her handwriting. It truly is the most wonderful time of the year. Except for my birthday, which is basically a national holiday.
Less than a week until Christmas!