Well, you know, it's that time of year. The one where people are supposed to get with family, get cozy, enjoy time off, etc. It's supposed to be a time of feeling good and being excited and hopeful and shit like that.

Except I can't really feel that this year for some reason. Is this what adulthood is supposed to be? Being two days away from Christmas, yet not feeling anything at all? I mean, I see the decorations around, hear the songs playing, and stuff. But in two days it could be just some random Friday, and I wouldn't feel any different than I do now.

People say "Why you such a humbug?" I'm not a humbug. All I can feel is a vague sadness with no cause. With a touch of irritability. I'd like to tell everyone I know that they can politely go fuck themselves with a cactus and just leave me alone forever. Unfortunately, I haven't found a polite way to say that yet. It's frustrating, really. But I guess wanting to tell people to fuck off at Christmas does qualify as being a humbug, so perhaps they're on to something.

I wish I had alcohol right now, to be honest. Would make this journal more interesting I think. Instead it's just another piece of depressing shit I can add to my ever growing pile.

Christmas is in two days, and all I can do is just pretend I don't actually hate everyone I talk to. It's not very Christmasy. I'd rather be joyous and happy and a genuine pleasure to be around, yet all I can do be a wannabe misanthrope. Though good news is I don't think anyone I talk to has caught on yet that I'm really just pretending to be nice. Or they have and just haven't said anything about it.

Either way, anyone reading this will know the truth, so that might be awkward. But they can go fuck themselves with a cactus for all I care. I'm tired of trying to give a shit about people.

So, Merry Christmas, everyone. Even though I probably hate you, I genuinely hope y'all have a happy holidays. I'm gonna go silently cry myself to sleep now.