Every year, I dread Christmas. Part of it is due to my procrastination tendencies. It always sneaks up on me, and I find myself trying to plan my gift-giving at the last minute. I like to find gifts that have meaning attached, but every year, I can’t seem to recall all those brilliant gift ideas I didn’t write down throughout the year.
The consumerism of Christmas drives me bonkers, too, which I’ve mostly managed to escape without cable and newspaper subscriptions. Regardless, I’ve certainly felt the pressure of dropping lots of dough because ‘tis the season of “giving,” because we’re “supposed to,” because I don’t want to look like a cheap skate in comparison. Those feelings really put a dreary damper on the holiday spirit. And isn’t this supposed to be a religious holiday? Santa’s got Jesus beat, hands down.
Needless to say, finding the perfect gift for every person on my list in a short amount of time that doesn’t break the bank makes my holiday season quite the stress fest.
Last year I decided to do something different, ditch my cycle of stress, forget about getting it “perfect,” and instead, prowl the thrift stores for great books and …