around the holidays. Miss the times when I celebrated it too. I think I find some kind of a perverse pleasure in feeling sorry for mylself. Oh poor me, one night of the year I have nowhere to go. There are people living on the street, sleeping in the cold. People with sick children or family members. People with relatives fighting wars. People who can’t afford basic necessities. And I whine about being alone on Christmas. I, with all these opportunities and comfort in my life. This stops now. I have so much that not being grateful is criminal.