Merry Christmas?

I've decided I hate Christmas. Anybody with me there?
C'mon, you can tell the truth. I know there's plenty of us out there, even though nobody wants to admit it.
I read a story in a British newspaper this morning all about how Christmas is just so hard for so many people -- and not just people who don't have money. Everybody basically.
And that everybody thinks everyone else is having a great time -- but the truth is, not that many people are, almost every study shows.
Suicide rates go up, calls to the British marriage counseling service Relate soar, hospital admissions go through the roof.
How can anything that inspires all that be any kind of merry?
Christmas is hard because of the expectations we all have -- even if we don't want to have any -- because of the baggage we all bring to it with the memories of our own childhood Christmases, because of family dynamics, step-families, intact families, singletons, all kinds of things.
A lot more Brits are just opting to go on holiday at Christmas -- and forget the whole thing, the article said.
That's what my one London friend did -- just high-tailed it outta here to a beach in Egypt. She admits it: She hates Christmas.
That beach is sounding kinda good just about now.
Anyway, my youngest son is here, and it's so lovely to see him. And all be together again.
But still.
We don't have room for a Christmas tree and that makes me sad. Our small flat is a total mess most of the time with everyone here and that makes me stressed.
Those may be the two most pathetic statements I've ever uttered.
When I was a kid, Christmas was all about a big beautiful Christmas tree and reading in the living room with my beloved father, while my mother made delicious Italian meals in the kitchen and made everything lovely.
She was a perfectionist, my mother. Used to stay up until 4 in the morning ensuring all the packages were as pretty as she could make them.
She admitted to me once, when I was older, how much she dreaded the whole thing, how hard it all was for her. And my Neapolitan father had at least one very memorable blow-up on Christmas Day.
Sigh.
All my kids want for Christmas is money -- to be used how they want when they want. My youngest said clearly he didn't want any random presents this year.
So we're dispensing with presents pretty much.
Which I'm happy about, I guess, because it certainly makes it easier.
But it also makes me sad.
There is just no winning at Christmas.