My life has plot issues

With less than one week before Christmas, my sister and I have managed to talk everyone out of the dreaded obligatory gift shopping for everyone, and into an admittedly half-arsed Kris Kringle. It began with "well I have a gift for Mum, that’s all." and, "Well all I have is something for Dad."  Now we just have to talk her husband and our brother into buying something for each other.  Wish us luck. 

I think maybe Christmas is over. Really. It’s had its day. I hate Christmas; everyone hates it. Nobody has a wish list and nobody has a gift list. Shopping isn’t fun, and neither is getting junk you don’t really want. At least my family is starting to admit that to each other. And the thing is, having a big meal with family isn’t much to look forward to either. It’s stale. There hasn’t been anyone new to change the dynamics for a long time. Everyone lives in their own worlds and has little to say to each other. We don’t connect. We don’t even like each other that much, really.  There’s not much point to getting together like this. 

In short, it’s boring. A lot of things are boring. My life is boring. I was depressing over that this morning in a rare Skype call with Alexander. Poor guy, I wouldn’t ring me either, to hear me go on about the tedium of my life. The thing I’m trying to figure now is, what’s the cause of the boredom? Is it me? Is my boredom a sign that I myself must be boring, or that I outclass my life and need something better?

The story isn’t working right.  My life is full of implosions, but lacks tension.  It’s not fun, it’s not sexy.  It deserves some serious thought.