It’s hard to be a curmudgeon at Christmas. That’s where I have been, you see, is having Christmas. I’ve been happy and upbeat, and spending times with friends and relatives that I like. That is to say, I have not been myself, so I have not been writing this column for a few days. I will admit to having the occasional curmudgeonly thought, but they were fleeting, even the ones about the over-commercialization of Christmas. I don’t involve myself in that part of it, so it’s not a big deal for me if I stay away from the television, which is also not a problem since I’m not thrilled about television.
So I have been a convivial curmudgeon for the last few days. That is not a particularly easy trick to pull off, but I think I managed. I noshed with the in-laws, and talked to my family on the telephone, and generally behaved like a normal person, at least to the degree that is possible. Occasionally, I pinched myself to see if perhaps I had expired and not noticed, but that proved to not be the case.
I am feeling small tendrils, however, of curmudgeon-ness slowly creeping in among the ganglia and synapses in my brain. I assume this means a return to normal, or at least normal for me. I would therefore expect to be a steaming pit of negativity, pessimism, and cynicism as early as tomorrow. When the timing is right, I shall strike. You will know it when a curmudgeonly column appears in this space.