The other day I finally sent my sisters a list of gift ideas for Christmas.

They’d been hounding me for suggestions for a while and, to be honest, I hadn’t even given my Christmas desires much thought. In fact, I’d been in such a funk that thinking up a list of items I would enjoy being given was actually a chore I’d been putting off. Normally this is something I can rattle off without a second thought. But I was just too tired and grumpy. Clearly, I’m in desperate need of a holiday. I mean, right now my favourite Christmas carols are the depressing ones or the slutty ones. That’s probably not a great sign.

But in the end, I was able to string together a list of scented candles and decadent cookbooks (Nigella’s been at it again, and goddamn it do I want her advice and, let’s face it, her life). And I’d be thrilled to receive anything on that list.

But in the shower just now, it occurred to me the kinds of things I should have actually put on that list. Because I realised I have needs more acute than a hardcover confirmation that my life is a steaming pile of shit.

So here’s a more accurate Christmas wish list, featuring my deepest and most realistic desires. It’s like look at the Mirror of Erised, but more depressing and relatable.

Razor blades: on the live-action version of The Grinch, the “gift of a Christmas shave” was an insult cruelly hinting at a deeply traumatic childhood event. In the live-action version of my life, it would be an absolute blessing. Razor blades are crazy expensive. I usually only buy them when there’s a points drive at Coles and I need to bump my weekly shop up to $50 or more. I’d like to say that I only change the razor blades seasonally because I’m stingy, but even four times a year seems too frequent for someone like me. If Santa wanted to give the gift of silk smooth legs and pits for Christmas, I’d be on board.

Somewhere to store my shitty shirts: I stupidly made the decision to move into a room with no built-in wardrobes and because I’m always in a state of suspended stability, I can’t justify spending money on furniture I wouldn’t be able to stuff into my car and speed towards the Queensland border with. But that means that my clothes are currently being stored in washing baskets and suitcases under my bed. And this is super depresso. I mean, it’s handy in a way that, because most of my clothes are lost under my bed, I don’t have to face the full extent of how cheap and shitty my shirt inventory is. But the con of this is that I end up cycling through that same three thinning t-shirts, and they’re getting so worn that I may soon receive an anonymous email indicating how inappropriate they are for public use.

More sports bras: I’ve been wearing them underneath my thinning, crappy t-shirts because their seams are less visible than my normal bras, and so they’re getting pretty worn themselves.

A voucher for someone to give my bathroom a crime-scene-standard clean: it’s the kind of bathroom so old that it didn’t feel clean when I moved in, so I feel like my scum and dead skins cells have layered up over the previous tenants’ personal grime. It would be nice to not accidently get their gunk underneath my fingernails, you know?

Black-out curtains: Because Sydney is ironic in that it leaves you in such a dark place emotionally, but not literally. Even with blinds drawn, you can still see everything with the lights out. I have to sleep with an eye mask and it’s nowhere near as saucy as the movies would have you believe. It just makes you feel like you have a plastic bag around your brain and hate your entire life.

New joggers: I’ve been using jogging as a way of running away from my problems (lately I’ve been listening to Christmas carols as I run – I highly recommend it) but I’ve also been eating my feelings too. This means that my running shoes are getting a lot of wear from overuse but an increasing weight adding extra pressure. They aren’t in good shape, as you can imagine.

A killer deep tissue massage: to work out the kinks of jogging in unsuitable footwear.

A scented candle: I mean, that was on my previous list, but this is also a legitimate emotional need right now so I included it here to emphasise its importance. Scented candles are good for the soul. Also, it would be nice to have something to cover the damp, musty smell of misery that infects my apartment.