dianaschnuth

Tomorrow I get to open my gifts from Aaron. I get to watch Aaron open the gifts I got for him. There’s snow aplenty to make for a white Christmas. I’m bringing a sausage cake to Lakewood on Saturday. I don’t have to work for four, count ’em, *four* days.

So why do I still feel unenthused?

I feel like something’s wrong. Something’s missing.

And the first person who tells me I’m missing the Christ in my Christmas gets a big ol’ comment ban from Yours Truly. Constructive comments, however, are always welcome. Especially from Amy, who seems to have her finger on the pulse of my general weird depresso phases.

Is anyone else feeling a distinct lack of the Christmas Spirit this year?

I mean, sure, I’m all geeked about one present in particular that I already know I’m getting. And, yeah, I decked out my website in Christmas finery. Aaron and I have wrapped just about all of our presents and have them piled about the tree, and I’ve taken the annual Family Photo By The Christmas Tree—this year, with the cat in the mix. Our stockings are hung on the entertainment center with care, and I’m even planning to make sausage cake (a Cook family holiday staple) to bring in to work on Wednesday.

Even so… ehh.

I just can’t get excited about it. What’s wrong with me?

Maybe I’m a bleeding-heart liberal. Maybe I still have too strong of ties to my Christian roots. Maybe those Amnesty International people I tried to hang out with that one semester rubbed off on me.

I just can’t get excited about Scott Peterson getting the death penalty.

It reminds me of how I felt when I heard about Saddam Hussein’s sons being killed. I just can’t get happy about someone being dead (or being sentenced to death), no matter how evil they are or what atrocities they committed.

I know that proponents of the death penalty would remind me that it’s just costing taxpayers money to keep criminals alive and in jail. I don’t know… I just wish there were some way we could somehow make these criminals realize the horrors they’ve committed, and not be proud of their “accomplishments,” but instead actually show remorse and feel genuine regret for the rest of their lives, or until they’re truly rehabilitated and can be reintroduced to society.

(Good grief… What the hell kind of tree-hugging hippie crap have I come up with this time…?)

All I know is that no one in a so-called “Christian country” should be jumping up and down with unbridled joy at the pronunciation of a death sentence, like I saw on ABC News tonight.

I kind of understand why people get all into their soap operas and dramas and such: experiencing such strong emotions without having to deal with their actual, real-life consequences can be cleansing.

It’s different when it’s not fiction.

Take Rori, for instance, whose blog I’ve been following for a couple months now. Her mother died almost three years ago, and reading her “Mom” category is absolutely heartwrenching on so many levels. Apart from the poignancy of the tale itself, it also helps me remember those I’ve lost (my Granny, my first stepdad, my Memaw); and it helps me remember that not only have I not had anything so horribly grievous happen in my life, but that I should count my blessings and let my loved ones know that they’re loved.

‘Tis the season, after all.

In last month’s Wired Magazine, I found an interesting article about a service in NYC called 311. It works like the BGSU Factline, from what I can tell, but with an added bonus: the government learns what people are asking about, and makes decisions based on the public’s concerns, if necessary. It’s like Factline for “the real world.”
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