Where is my Xmas?

Where to begin? Let's start at the end. December 2011, sitting at my work desk, that barbell around my neck, the din of that last minute/hour/second until the 'festive season' is meant to dawn. Festive my poephol. I sluch further into my chair. A colleague groans int he distance. I attempt it myself, a groan, a moan, a whinge. Computer says NO, NEIN, NEE. And I slouch further, deeper. Okay, so I turn to booze, my liquid mate of merriment and potential idiocy. By mid-December, my liver bit me. Eina. My brain, addled by an array of substances, clicks, clanks, churns and stops short of... well, stopping. Food, yes, binge-eating, that be the answer. Who cooks then? eat out, the merry morons urge. With what money? No bonus, no 13th check, no profit share, fuck all. My fiance eyes me like Ali over her fists. I swear to Jah, I'll fight her over cooking duties. Klap, bam, slap! With blue eyes and batter ego, the realisation dawns on me - the woman cooks food. I cook kak. I reach deep into my abyss, searching for hope to drag me into 2012, minus hang ups, arsehoels and further injuries. The abyss says NO, NEIN, NIKS. Where to from here? Hopelessness and boredom pervade me and I have a sore throat. Who cares any more, apart from parents desperate to keep the little ones from moaning over tether ball, socks and shoes for Xmas. Merry Xmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Yeeha Kwanzaa.