Oh, right. Seasonal anxiety and depression are real things, which means, until probably January, I can’t be in a Target unattended for more than 15 minutes unless I want to feel like I may actually have a nervous breakdown.
Fuck you, Target. It’s not even Thanksgiving yet. Can I get my goddamn laundry detergent and a new yoga mat without getting punched in the feels by your bullshit B-squad reindeer? (This has also happened in grocery stores, card stores, and on one very special occasion, a CVS.)
I don’t do well in stores to begin with, but the seasonal shit started post-breakup and clearly hasn’t dissipated at all. My ex helped me slowly stop hating Christmas after many years of retail work and unbearable family gatherings, aaand now that hatred is back, with a little extra special flavor — like a lovely smoked sea salt for mood swings.
Smug Singleton 