who killed the holiday spirit?

really, i'd like to know. because it's been gone from my life for the past couple of years, and this saddens me. i realize that part of growing up is that transition from living the entire month of december as a period of intense and magical waiting to having perhaps a week or two of delighting in pretty lights. but when there's not school vacation (or, in my case, any vacation) to look forward to, there's really very little to anticipate. spirit of the holidays is fine to say, but part of what contributes to that is the setting apart as special, which usually includes a variation from the normal routine. all you're probably getting from this is a whine about my lack of time off. but that's not it.

what i really want to know is what happens to the magic? why does the disappearance of magic seem to be requisite for "growing older"? where does it go? and without it, what's left to love?

what are we supposed to spend our adult lives (if that distinction is actually accurate) being passionate and excited about? i love the feeling of finishing a book and spending the next hazy hour without really leaving the story. or the contrast of warm sunshine and a cool breeze on my skin. or spending random minutes imagining what it would be like to walk on the ceiling. but those are just the little bits i still have; i can no longer remember what it was like to spend hours, days, in a world generated almost entirely by my own imagination. why must i leave that behind? what did i trade it for? because if it turns out to be something like my ability to bs my way through 20 pages on assigning a monetary value to life satisfaction before and after the capitalist transition in poland... can i exchange it for my childhood, please?