I wish I had more energy to enjoy the special moments — the way the children’s eyes light up, the warmth of family, the comfort of tradition — WITHOUT collapsing beneath the pressures of the holidays.
I wish I could replicate myself and have my clone do all the shopping and planning while I drink (vegan) egg nog and chill with my favorite humans.
I wish everything, and I mean everything, could be delivered to my doorstep, because it’s too damn peopley outside in December.
I wish I could wear pyjamas everywhere.
I wish small talk was illegal.
I wish I had an animal friend to cuddle when all the socializing gets unbearable.
I wish it was socially acceptable to read a book at a party.
I wish I didn’t always feel two steps behind and a million miles away from where I should be.
I wish more people were real and unfiltered.
I wish for more silence and less B.S.
I wish I could erase all my regrets from 2017, but keep the wisdom.
I wish I could be a mime for a while, except without the creepy makeup.
I wish I was as good at sneaking out of parties as Santa is at disappearing up the chimney.
I wish there was an app to become invisible whenever I feel awkward.
I wish my heart and my brain could find a less catastrophic way of communicating.
I wish Facebook and Instagram had more pictures of people looking rundown and disheveled, (like how I look right now) instead of all the photoshopped family Christmas photos.