The Festive Blues

It is teeming dinosaurs; they were heavier than cats and dogs, so you can imagine the deluge.

Perpetual rain on our tiny, sunny island, to me, usually portends the festive season. Then, there is the office's Christmas decoration, which started without warning this morning and my neck still ache from hanging adornments and lights. Having said that, I think I must be roaming around like a sleepwalker, for only today, I knew from my colleagues about Orchard Road being lit up. So it must be true, akin to a close friend's words, how I live in my own world.

And how I detest the December holidays, the hearty oh-oh-oh of Santa Claus, the pretension - for most people I know are not Christians, but exchange gifts and greetings all the same - and the rush in everything from office work to traffic.

If I were allowed one wish, let me sleep through December instead. Oh, please? I must be getting old to hate Christmas this much. Either that, or I am having the festive blues and oxymoron just paid an unexpected visit.