Merry Christmas, from the dark side.

The holidays, that dark time between All Hallows’ Eve and the crushing cold isolation of January and February. A time when the sins of the year weigh heavily on souls facing a two month exile, forced to spend time soul searching, remembering every little misstep, every cross word, every exaggerated reaction. Nobody wants to face that without a feeble attempt to make amends.

So, we spend, foolishly, rapidly and enthusiastically. Genghis Khan didn’t carry that kind of aggression. We spend online, in stores, over the phone, piling up debt and buying ourselves some imagined absolution for our perceived sins.

Whether you look at it as the celebration of the birth of the savior or the solemn passing of the winter solstice there is no denying the fact that the holidays are the greatest mover of consumer goods mankind has ever devised. Looking at the numbers leaves you gasping for air, dizzy with the enormity, the sacrifice, the hours it took to earn that money. The months it will take to repay.

If you work in retail or any part of the gift supply chain you understand the scale. You don’t see the noble, charitable shine applied by the advertising machine that manufactures illusion and applies veneers to the shameless exploitation of almost everyone, almost everywhere. No, you have to look at the scars, and the dirt under the fingernails, the grimy, worn jeans. And you know, you see, there is no magic, it is all industry.

Sleigh bells ring, sure but it is impossible to hear behind the sound of cash register drawers, hidden under the venomous glare of holiday shoppers, buried under the mountain of printed ads sweeping through the neighborhood. And we pretend there is something grand behind the expense, the blatant, naked avarice, and the hostility that fills stores with shoppers who would maim a person for the last sliced ham.

This year alone I have read at least 7 articles on the stress of the season. Some on dealing with the demands of additional chores required by family coming to visit. A few on the problems caused by the sudden, crushing burden imposed on the budget. There is disappointment dissolving into bitter disillusionment, escalating into anger and hate. The holidays is the fabled graveyard where relationships go to die.

The line from the Honey Baked Ham store winds through barricades, people sigh, shuffle their feet,

inch forward and contemplate homicide. Elves, dressed in honey baked aprons and hats wind around passing out little tooth picks with “free samples” stuck on the end in a mostly successful effort to assuage anger and resentment.

But, the holidays come and go and we survive. And we start dreading next year, or relishing the fabled, foolish belief that there is some glory buried somewhere under all that greed, under all that marketing. Anyway, Happy Holidays, enjoy.