Confessions of Fangirl

I’ve been thinking about writing a letter to Santa this year. I know I’m a (sort of) grown-ass adult who doesn’t believe in Santa. I mean… I know Santa isn’t real.

I never believed in Santa. I’m guessing there are other people (who grew up in Christian households) out there who say stuff like that, but I’m not bragging about “being smart” or “putting clues together” or anything like that. My parents just didn’t want me to believe in Santa, or anything “magical” really. My dad supposedly got into a fistfight when he was twelve over the fact that Santa wasn’t real and was pretty traumatized by the whole thing. My mom never talks about learning that Santa wasn’t real, but it seems like maybe that was a pretty traumatic experience as well. Her big thing though, was that she didn’t want me to equate Santa with God.

That may sound weird, but… I was going to say why it wasn’t weird, but it is weird, just maybe not in the way you’d think. My mom is pretty intense about her faith and the bible and all that. She said if she let my sister and I believe in Santa that we may not believe her when she said God was real. There’s a least one comedian I know of who does a stand up bit about that. About kids being like, “psshhhh, Satan’s not real; it’s just dad in a costume like Santa” or something like that. It’s a funny bit, and I like it. He’s not being religious when he does it, he’s just making commentary on the bullshit premise that parents go through elaborate lengths to lie to their children about the existence of Santa all while preaching that honesty is the best policy.

I have a lot of issues with Santa. Like the whole gift versus coal thing and the “naughty and nice” list. See, there’s a difference between a “gift” and a “reward.” A gift is given, not because it’s earned, but because the giver wants to give it. Maybe certain societal standards make people feel like they have to give gifts, but a “gift” by definition isn’t given because someone “earned” it. Being born doesn’t “earn” you a reward, but western culture traditionally likes to celebrate the anniversary of the birth of a loved one by giving them a present. Those are different things! Which means that kids only get something ‘fun’ if they’re on the ‘nice’ list, they’re being rewarded for ‘good behavior.” There is nothing wrong with rewards. Rewards are great ways of motivating and encouraging and celebrating people. But it’s still different to give a gift. Getting “coal” because you were naughty is a punishment based on merit. If someone’s behavior and actions have a direct effect on whether or not they’re getting something, they’re getting a reward (or a punishment or nothing or whatever).

So yeah, I have a lot of weird things about Santa.

But because I grew up in the household I did, I never got to write a Christmas letter to Santa. Maybe it’s dumb to think that I want that experience now, especially at thirty-three years old (well, thirty-years, ten months, and twelve days), but it’s sitting with me. I’m sure it’s all the Hallmark movies I’ve been watching that are making me feel this way. Still, it sounds fun.

The post office lets you send mail to Santa at “the north pole” and if you have a kid, you can send enough postage that the post office will make it look like your letter has gone to the north pole and add with it a letter from you in response to the child’s letter. It’s sneaky is what it is. But I still think it’s kind of wonderful.

I know I’ll never get a response back. I’d just be sending a wish list out into the void, but I sort of like the idea of that too. And maybe that’s what I’m really imagining right now with my desire to send the letter. It’s not about Santa at all, but about me trying to shout into the void of life.

I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.

I think I’m feeling a little better today. Not perfect, I’m still congested and I’ve got a bit of a sinus headache, but I think sleep helped. I’m spending the day watching Hallmark movies and reading--at least that’s the plan. So far, so good as far as goals go. I’ve only done the Hallmark part so far today, but I’m confident I can fit in some reading too. I’m enjoying the day for sure. I’m not a fan of being sick, but at least I’ve got time to rest before I have to be back to work. I’d rather not take any time off from work for illness if I can help it. If I can avoid taking any sick leave for 7 pay periods, they’ll give me 4 more hours of vacation time which is a pretty sweet deal. I mean, that’s half a day of vacation or not calling out sick over the period of 98 days, especially since they do give separate vacation and sick time. That adds to a pretty good amount of time off per year, even as someone just starting out.

I really do enjoy the job. I know it’s rediculously dorky to say but it still doesn’t feel like work most of the time which makes it a lot easier to spend forty hours there a lot easier.

We’re watching one of the Hallmark Movies and mom says, “this is kind of just like that other one.” … Uh, duh, mom. They’re all the same. That’s like… the point? I mean, I still enjoy some more than others and in different ways, but they are pretty similar and the point is the familiarity and faith in the happy ending. Otherwise, what would be the point? They would be like any other movie you could see anywhere else. I guess that sounds sort of odd, but other movies always have the chance of ending badly or partly happy or whatever. You can’t really say for sure how things are going to turn out. The book “The Little Black Book” with Brittany Murphy was touted as a romantic comedy and it’s a great movie, but it doesn’t have the happy ending you get with a Hallmark movie. My point is that you can’t trust the majority of other movies, not really. But you can always count on a Hallmark Movie to give you a super sweet happy ending and that’s something I love. Sort of get that people like the unexpected. Sometimes that is something I get excited about, but I can’t binge on that the way I can binge on happy endings.

I’m going to go get some food. Maybe there will be a part two later.