For me, Christmas this year was akin to waiting in a long line for an amusement park ride that in the end, kind of sucked. A lot of time for a little thrill. A month of looking for deals, spending money, wrapping gifts, attending parties, avoiding parties, getting dressed up, eating bad food, drinking too much, all for one measly day that stretched on forever and ended up, as usual, being pretty fucking boring.

Then, it was over. Like it never happened.

I feel guilty saying this because I have a child. Parents are supposed to make Christmas magical for kids, right? Not just the day itself, but the whole season. I remember that feeling—the tree lights at night, stockings on the mantel. Going to the movies with my dad, who took two weeks off his corporate job to be with his family. The whole thing was special, joyful, comforting.

I tried. I decorated the mantel, put up a tree. Haphazardly framed a window in white lights. I bought him lots of things. Stuffed his stocking with candy. Set out cookies and milk for Santa, blah, blah, blah. But the day itself just kind of…came and went.

Today, the day after Christmas, all the stores, cafes and restaurants are open again. Things feel normal, which I appreciate. But are they supposed to, already? Did I do it all wrong? Should I try harder next year? Does any of this matter? If so, why?

I don’t like Christmas.