'Tis the season.
I'm feeling twinges of the holiday blues. I've been giving the melancholy of it all a good deal of thought, in mostly vain attempts to peg it to some one cause. Is it because I still have no friends here? Is it because my job is still thankless? Is it because I'm thirty, divorced, living with my parents and my child who seems to need me less every day? Is it because I feel essentially useless and meaningless? Is it because even a licensed therapist won't return my calls?
I've decided that it's the commercials.
During the better part of the year, commercials focus on how miserable the vast majority of people are. They have bloating, acne, dish-pan-hands, ring-around-the-collar, nail fungus, social anxiety, profuse perspiration, gas, acid reflux, flat tires, greasy pots and pans, limp and lifeless hair, dull complexions, non-rotisserie chickens, feminine and/or jock itch, upset stomach, sore throats, limp and lifeless romantic lives, problems that even hotlines psychics can't delve into, back hair, smoking habits that they'll never kick, and dermatitis.
Then, just about Thanksgiving time, when I've managed to convince myself of the fact that I'm apparently the only lucky s.o.b. who doesn't have diarrhea or indigestion or migraines or frequent urination-related problems, just about that time, Hallmark and Folger's start running their campaign to keep suicide hotline employees working through January.
Now I find that everyone else was cured of their irritable bowel syndrome, their dandruff and their grass stains, their backaches and their pot-smoking teens, their illiteracy and depression and cracking nails, and they've all gathered around a stuffed snowman with a plastic carrot nose and plastic coal eyes and a felt top hat who plays the piano and sings 15 different jolly Christmas tunes. They've been magically restored through the healing powers of mass-produced greeting cards, and they're congratulating themselves and their Ivy League sons over aromatic coffee while listening to little Suzy play Greensleeves 'round the old piano.
It's hard to compare to that.
I've decided that it's the commercials.
During the better part of the year, commercials focus on how miserable the vast majority of people are. They have bloating, acne, dish-pan-hands, ring-around-the-collar, nail fungus, social anxiety, profuse perspiration, gas, acid reflux, flat tires, greasy pots and pans, limp and lifeless hair, dull complexions, non-rotisserie chickens, feminine and/or jock itch, upset stomach, sore throats, limp and lifeless romantic lives, problems that even hotlines psychics can't delve into, back hair, smoking habits that they'll never kick, and dermatitis.
Then, just about Thanksgiving time, when I've managed to convince myself of the fact that I'm apparently the only lucky s.o.b. who doesn't have diarrhea or indigestion or migraines or frequent urination-related problems, just about that time, Hallmark and Folger's start running their campaign to keep suicide hotline employees working through January.
Now I find that everyone else was cured of their irritable bowel syndrome, their dandruff and their grass stains, their backaches and their pot-smoking teens, their illiteracy and depression and cracking nails, and they've all gathered around a stuffed snowman with a plastic carrot nose and plastic coal eyes and a felt top hat who plays the piano and sings 15 different jolly Christmas tunes. They've been magically restored through the healing powers of mass-produced greeting cards, and they're congratulating themselves and their Ivy League sons over aromatic coffee while listening to little Suzy play Greensleeves 'round the old piano.
It's hard to compare to that.
posted by Autumn at 5:47 PM
2 Comments:
Thanks....haven't laughed that hard in a while. But just one quetion.....should I ask my doctor about cimrinoplastitex? Cause I think I have all the symptoms...and most of the side effects.
Yes. Yes, I would definitely have that looked at.
And thanks so much for laughing at my depression. Glad its of some use to somebody. Especially to somebody with cimrinoplastitex.
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