Stifling stuffing

Christmas has passed, at least for most of us, and I must say I feel full constantly, even when I’m not eating. I believe, with everything that has been shoved down my throat over the past few days, I’m on the verge of turning into the bloody gravy-smothered turkey.
Everyone wants to feed everyone, to show they can cook things best, or by pure festive generosity, and I just can’t take another bite. From canapés and cocktails to delicate entrées, turkeys and roasts and catered buffets, followed by cookies, cakes, chestnuts and their glistening glaze, I now dread the thought of the still upcoming luncheons and invites I’ve year-long awaited. In a world where daily struggles and fear are omnipresent, food and feasts act as ointments on an open wound, soothing everyone’s pains for as long as the high can last. Unfortunately, even with stomachs full and ears ringing with carols and laughs, the terrible thought of January 2nd and the imminent ending of our beloved holidays pounds on our satisfied tummies not too long ago replenished and filled with Christmas delights.
We eat to forget that this joyful time has to end, that reunions only last for as long as our jobs permit, time together shorter than we’d care to admit, and that the beautiful tree can’t forever stay lit. Decorations will soon be taken down, santas will leave all the malls in town, and life will resume its boring self, once again. The nauseating thought of regular days lurking round the corner makes me feverish with angst; today I’m a stuffed turkey with a broken timer, and my edges are slowly starting to burn.


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