All I Want For Christmas

Hello, Christmas, or is that you at all?
Can you call it Christmas when your Dad is in hospital, thinner than ever, struggling with pureed baby food and fruit juice? You make gingerbread and you make love all the same, but it isn't the same at all. Suddenly talking about presents and costs, working hours and wages, recipes and carols just seems ridiculous.
What is Christmas? Can we call it Christmas that Mom stays for Christmas Eve and doesn't leave until the next morning to spend the next week with her husband's family? That she doesn't even want to have a Christmas tree because why bother for one day? Can we call it Christmas that you stuff yourself with chocolate and candies wearing tracksuit and pajamas for a week? Can we call it Christmas that you spend hours and thousands of money in shopping centers and on buses? Can we call it Christmas that you spend your last working week filling out stupid assessment sheets, printing worksheets, listening to management monologues on the financial crisis in the company, in the country, and in the Universe in general? That people yell at each other on the bus, on the street, into and out of cars?
I just want what I should have wanted all through the years. Instead of asking for books, CDs, clothes, gourmet menus, I'm just asking for peace and togetherness. You know, I'm 25 now but I want that bloody tree and I want my Mom to consider us more important than her man for once, I want my Dad big and strong and cheerful, my sister relaxed, my boyfriend by my side, and my little sister with no care in the world at all.