As cool and cynical as I try to be on a daily basis, I love Christmas in the totally cheesy, naive way of a small child. Probably partly because I had a great childhood, and partly because inside I can be a big soft optimistic idiot, and when else can I let that out besides the holiday season? I even love holiday music (although by that I mean real, Bing Crosby holiday music, not anything by a boy band or the Biebs. Even if Bing was the Biebs of his day.)
So after four days of pestering the boyfriend to go with me to buy a tree and carry it home, we were finally on our way. "What's the big deal?" he asked me, as we were walking in the cold. "It'll be over in a few weeks, and we're not kids anymore."
I thought about it for a moment before answering. "Every day is the same," I finally told him. "I go to work, come home, the weekends blink by, and then years have passed. I've been in the same routine for nearly eight years, with ten vacation days off per year. I need something to anchor me." It was the first time I'd ever really articulated that out loud. Also, as some background info, the boyfriend is one of the privileged few who makes his own works hours and never really experienced office life.
"Wow," he said. "That's really bleak."
And then I was proud to have a bitter, sad angle on my corny holiday glee.
Why Time Goes Faster as You Get Older via Psychology Today
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