it’s so rare that christmas ever excites me anymore. i used to make rainbow chains out of construction paper and pull away a link for every day approaching christmas; i used to listen to carols on the school bus; i used to hang christmas lights on the metal frame of my bed and leave them up for months. there was this feeling i’d get in the pit of my stomach, a sort of squirming warmth, a restlessness i felt so often during december, then less and less each year, right up until i stopped feeling it at all. the fact that i no longer anticipate the holidays with the raging excitement of childhood fills me with a sort of exotic sadness, a sadness for losing something in myself, some kind of love i thought i’d always have.

and there are moments when the feeling will return—like a bold electric shock—but by the time i recognize and try to catch it in my grasp, it’s already passed right through me. it’s already gone.