All I want for Christmas

A few weeks leading up to Christmas, I started making a mental list of all the things I wanted this year, but try as I might, I could not find many material items to put on my list. I could have asked for clothes or jewelry, books or cds, but many trips to the shopping mall left me at a loss for ideas. I spent hours wandering the bookstore looking for the perfect book to add to my wishlist, but it became a futile search in a sea of worthy books. Too many books, too little time. I think I will forego reading altogether. Lately, I have wanted the updated Chicago Manual of Style. As my days are spent conversing with people whose first language is not English, I feel my grammar has taken a turn for the worse. I logged on to my Amazon account and added grinningly the Chicago manual of Style to my wishlist. But alas, Christmas day came and no heavy grammar Manual was unwrapped. It’s ok. I didn’t really want it anyways. A big book like that would have been heavy in my suitcase. I searched a little more for items to add to my wishlist: something light, easily transportable — a book here, a dvd there. Maybe a nice coat or a shiny new pair of earrings (even though I haven’t worn earrings regularly in 10 years.) The necklace in the display was nice and the purse. How about that little device that you can plug into your computer or the unattainable game console that everyone is lining up for (what’s it called again?). I could ask for a paintset. I have always wanted to pick up painting or drawing or some sort of creative outlet. I could begin my career as a closet artist (which would have been my dream had I not already abandonned all hope of an artistic career). I could ask for a bunch of kitchen utensils to fill my non-existent kitchen. I would really like to have a nice chef’s knife and a set of stainless steel clad-iron pans. It became a growing list that stretched so many years of my life. My faded hopes and ambitions came back to me in these childish wishes, the idea that I could possibly become something greater than myself. But my real list is empty. There is nothing material on this list, nothing I really want that can be wrapped in a box and put under the tree because the truth is I don’t have a life in which to store these items. So what do I want for Christmas? I really don’t know, though a job and a ticket to Paris would be a nice start.