Holiday spirit, schmoloday spirit

First off, I haven't made a decision as of yet whether to allow this paper to fly me up for an interview. After careful review, it's a 43 percent pay cut. I'd be leaving my roommate high and dry for six months (even though we are now on a month-to-month lease) and I'm not too sure if copy editing is my exact forte. It's not like I can't live in poverty - I can. But just yesterday, my car needed about $300 of maintenance stuff done on it (120,000 mile tune-up, oil change and rear brakes). Anyway - it looks like no one can make this decision but myself. So I'll leave it as that. What I want to talk to today is the death of the Christmas spirit. I can trace the moment it died ... sophomore college year. Before that, the holidays seemed to move at the pace of a six-hour BBC News broadcast. School work slowed, I had a no-brainer job, so all I could focus on were going to the mall to buy gifts and catching the holiday movies. Then... sophomore year - finals. Those Saturdays and Sundays at the mall were replaced by hours at the library. That money from my part-time job that was used for Christmas was now used for rent and groceries. Christmas was the last of my worries. And when finals were done, I was so wiped out that I barely realized I only had four days to shop for everyone's gift and wrap everything. Suddenly, Christmas became a giant pain in the ass. There's no point to this entry (big surprise, some Blog entries have little to no substance) other than the simple answer to the naive question: "When did we adults lose the Christmas spirit?" Answer - sophomore college year Preemptive strike People who can't decide whether to s**t or get off the pot. And currently, I'm that person.