Christmas time, for me, is as enjoyable as having a Pap smear, scraping and all. When I woke up a couple of days before Christmas of 2021, I wasn’t expecting to become the world’s most exhausted, grumpiest, real-life vampire.
Yet when I opened my eyes they immediately burned in my dimly-lit bedroom. The tears didn’t just stream, they were escaping my eyes for better pastures.
This wasn’t normal. Christmas isn’t a great time for me. I’d rather be home alone, or getting a Pap smear — scraping and all — than go anywhere, talk to anyone, or do anything.
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