Forty-one pounds to go!
Call me Scrooge but this is definitely not my most favorite time of year. I do like most but not all the family stuff and none of the commercialization. It's also my busiest time of year work-wise. That and the added anxiety that accompanies the realization that yet another year is quickly slipping away and I'm a mess. And then there are the parties!
I look at social gatherings as performance pieces. I don't know why it is, or how I came to be this way but I'm a completely different person at parties-- it's like I'm on stage doing some sort of improv shtick. And when it's over, I'm flat-out exhausted. Throw in appetizers and libation and I'm an unproductive steaming pile of goo come January. I'm getting anxious just thinking about it. (Where the hell did I put my happy place?)
We're expected at two parties this Friday and I'm seriously considering playing hooky. I've got so much to do and so little time left. Can I rationalize missing every party but the one we're hosting? It's oh so easily done--- and if I skip enough parties and ruffle enough feathers who knows, perhaps no one will come to ours.
Steve exits, stage left.
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