Tuesday night on our way home from getting groceries, Bear asked me when we should put our tree up. I shrugged. "I don't really care if we don't put it up at all, actually," I said. "It just seems silly to do all that work for three weeks and then have to take it all down again."
"Are you kidding?" Bear queried.
"No... why?" I asked.
"Because. You're the one who got me back into celebrating Christmas. I didn't celebrate it for years before you. You were the one who insisted that Christmas needs to be celebrated. You made a big deal out of it and made me love it again. Now you're telling me that you don't care?"
It's true. For the first time in my entire life, I do not care about Christmas. I'm not against the idea, but I have no feelings at all either way. It's odd, and it would concern me - but I just can't be bothered to care. I wonder in a detached way why I feel this way, but it's too much work to suss out the reasons so I haven't really bothered. I do feel guilty for disappointing Bear. But should I lie about it? Is it better to pretend to have holiday spirit for his sake or to be honest about it for mine? I don't really know the answer to that question.
I know that part of my ambivalence comes from knowing that we have very *very* little money to spend on gifts. Part of it is because I have no surprise gifts in mind for Bear - he's getting stuff from his list (last year I surprised him with Jeff Dunham tickets and he was THRILLED). A part comes from working two jobs, which leaves me too tired to want to decorate. I'm sure as well that part of my lack of spirit is because of some reason I have yet to discover.
Bear and I are going to the Festival of Lights parade on Saturday night. It's a Christmas parade that culminates in the lighting of the tree in downtown Bangor. I'm looking forward to it, and I hope that it will put a little bit of holiday spirit into my otherwise empty heart. If it doesn't, I don't know what to do to keep from disappointing Bear further.