Dim and Downbeat Holiday Past 98/100 ( #100days writing challenge)

I overheard a coffee‑shop employee mutter, “I’m traumatized by retail,” after a customer asked whether he celebrated the holidays. That comment made me think about how my own childhood, spoiled with presents, still fuels a longing for the wonder—and the chaos—of the season.

Perhaps that’s why I bought countless little gifts for myself this year, losing track of them as I went. What began with practical items soon turned into a splurge on expensive sneakers that I’ll probably end up returning. I could blame my excessive spending on trauma, but it’s really an obsession—a mood‑driven shopping binge that took place on Christmas Day, all from the comfort of my home.

Christmas this year felt more like something to endure than to enjoy. My friends, busy doting on their children, no longer shared their enthusiasm with me. My housemate was still grieving; a close friend had died just before the holiday, leaving us unable to laugh at our usual Christmas‑pizza ritual. Instead of the familiar chain‑served pie, we settled for a frozen pizza.

At least the weather was fine, allowing us to get out of the house. I mistakenly thought a nearby convenience store would be open on Christmas, drove there, and realized it was closed. Still, we admired the modest decorations on the homes we passed.

Meanwhile, Maru—the beloved internet cat—had passed away. His companions, Hana and Miri, posed in a quiet tribute video, a bittersweet reminder of their friendship.

“Familiarity breeds contempt,” they say, and I find myself feeling jaded by my genteel surroundings. My own dog—or cat— if I kept one, would probably fill my calendar with more uplifting activities. Instead, I plan to crochet another plush figure or hand‑sew a doll. I managed to capture a few artistic photos and even shot a roll of disposable‑camera film, though I’m not eager to develop it. The sunny afternoons on the south side this town feel novel at noon, offering a small but welcome change.