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Dallas Boyd
Dallas Boyd

While my friends were updating their Facebook statuses to comment on their exploits as Santa Claus for their baby children, I was sprawled like a starfish, alone on my bed, marvelling at how I’d managed to become so drunk after just drinking two beers. Was I dehydrated? Have I lost that much muscle mass this last month, confined to my office, behind a computer day and night coordinating everyone else’s hard earned Christmas vacations? I was starkly aware of the contrast of my situation with that of my friends: Sharing gifts and special time with family and children vs. tooling around my house alone, half cut, on two light beers with ice.

Absconding in the work vehicle this afternoon, on the pretence of having work-related errands to do, I shot down to the post office and anxiously opened my P.O. Box in case any last minute Christmas cards or unexpected packages had been delivered to me. As usual, my P.O. Box contained nothing but cobwebs and dead bugs (which I am reluctant to clean out because I think they have comical value). The man at the counter got my hopes up momentarily when he was like, “Miss, perhaps this package is for you?” (Holding a large parcel wrapped in brown paper - which is the best type of parcel.) It wasn’t for me. Why would the post office man play with my emotions like that?

Sitting in the office on Christmas Eve, alone again and running virus scans on my laptop, I waited for my brothers to call (because it’s Christmas Day in New Zealand time). The phone rang, I answered, and the sound of a fart echoed in my ear. God I wish I was home. If you ever wonder what to buy a 22 year old male for Christmas, I seriously suggest a hilarious sound machine.

All intentions to spend Christmas alone aside - (moping around the house, watching “Love Actually”, drowning in chocolate, cheese, crackers and cheap wine) - I have spontaneously agreed to venture out into actual sunlight tomorrow, to the beach no less, with actual friends. (I do have them). I can even wear my new bikini and lie on my new beach mat, pretending to be a tourist for a day who has paid thousands of dollars to be here, escaping the chilly Northern Hemisphere winter for a Tropical Christmas in Paradise. And lying in the sun, I bet I can even get wasted on just one beer, instead of two!

Unable to conjure up the Christmas Spirit inside myself without a little inspiration, it wasn’t until I watched “The Christmas Story” as told by the children of St Paul's Church on You Tube, that I felt a stirring of Christmassy goodness. Warm, fuzzy, nostalgic, Christmassy goodness that so far no amount of wine, cheese, fruitcake, plastic tree or chocolate had been able to replicate. If you need some Christmas Spirit, click the link now, quickly, before you become to depressing.

But the best feelings, for which there is no substitute, come from being at liberty to spend the time you have with the ones you love the most. So if you're like me this year, whether you are overseas, working, or simply super anti-social and sort of like a Grinch, then my Christmas Spirit wish for you (I have decided we all get a Christmas Spirit wish) is that whatever is beautiful, whatever is meaningful, whatever brings you happiness - may it be yours this season and throughout the coming year. 

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