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I’m Not Getting Paid The Friday Before Xmas, But, It’s Okay, I’ll Live

The rest of us may not…

My plight isn’t extraordinary. It’s the classic playbook for thousands of Americans who shriek under the lights of a season that belongs to privileged sects who have earned the right to be joyful — at a time that makes the ordinary folk feel even less adequate.

The suffering of blighted Americans is real.

We want to believe that no matter how bad it gets, Santa Claus decked out in red and white will somehow save the day. We need to hold on our glasses filled with polluted eggnog, as we listen to endless chatter about the shitty weather in Vail and the workload in Park Avenue — in order to deafen the screams of baby dolls that have nothing to wear for the most wonderful time of the year.

Maybe I am racist.

I don’t even know. The thing is that these situations always display the same players that look and sound alike. I guess, I need to get out more, or perhaps I am jaded.

Merry Christmas!

Juggling Wordsmith. I have a lot to say!