So, firstly let me apologize for the lateness of this post. To be honest, I haven’t been on a train for a while. What’s that got to do with writing? Well, simply put, I like to write on trains. Hence, no train – no writing. There’s something about the constant movement, back and forward, side to side, that reminds me of the oscillations of thought and writing itself. Simply put, it stimulates my creative juices, and I find myself able to write where previously the well had run dry.
Enough. Christmas. For the first time in a while, we’re not on the road on Christmas Day. Once again, I have the feeling of being cast adrift from family – the rest of the Heggart’s seem preoccupied with other concerns – and I don’t begrudge the, that at all, not in the slightest. And me? I feel rudderless. A little bit between two states – halfway to liquid but still semi-solid. It triggered some thoughts about Christmas, which I felt were worthy of sharing with you. So: I think Christmas is the most hated holiday I the whole calendar. I’m not talking about its religious aspects – those Jane their own problems – but instead I’m talking about the paen to capitalistic excess we celebrate in Australia.
It’s a secret hate, though – the hate of a servant to his or her master. And that analogy is apt: Christmas is full of our desperation to please someone, anyone, people that we only barely know and willingly ignore for the rest of the year. It’s a celebration of willing subjugation, filled with compulsion to perform duties because we simply have to. We have to do this. We have to go there. We have to meet these people and cook that and spend money we don’t have to buy presents that people don’t need that we don’t even like.