- Christmas wrap comes in two permutations. The first is the stuff that's offered at a very good price, fits in whatever container one uses to store such a thing, coordinates with whatever else one might want to use (e.g. tissue, bags, bows, tags), and is available at the time that one wants to buy it. This stuff is invariably CRAP. It doesn't cut right, won't fold for anything, and only comes in a quantity large enough to wrap a destroyer...twice. It lasts forever.
The second option is, obviously, the opposite. Expensive, stupid size (long tube? super small folded bundle?), won't match anything - including white or black - and can only be found on the shelf when you wouldn't be buying something like that anyway. But it cuts like butter, folds like a dream, and is almost always JUST BARELY TOO FUCKING SMALL for whatever you're trying to wrap. - Christmas lights. GODAMNIT. Now I understand why, every year, my dad would get out the box of Christmas lights and my mom would be pressed into service to keep us kids still. We would sit in a little row on the couch and twitch while we watched dad test and then put up the lights. All the while he was mouthing creative words that he never, ever said out loud. Once the lights were on the tree and functioning, we were permitted to move. At that point, Dad cleared out of the house. Smart man. The three of us had a tendency to go nuts when we put up ornaments.
As I said: I now understand. I have a four-foot Christmas tree. This year, I'm putting it up in my bedroom. Why? Because no one else deserves whatever happiness I might be able to wring out of this fucking holiday. I need to compress it for myself. So I'm putting up the damned tree, right? And it's got a 100-light string on it.
Only 50 of the fucking things will light. Why? God only knows. Fuckers. I hate this tree. I hate these lights. If I ever manage to find the end, I will take them off and throw them out the window. Seriously, if I had a gun, I would shoot the tree. I realize that it wouldn't do any good. I realize that it's completely senseless, in fact, to shoot a plastic tree that has nothing to do with the inherent problem. Still. I want to shoot it. - Christmas cards. I love to get them. I hate to write them. This year, I'm not. (Not that I've been too overall great at it for the last four years.) This year, I'm writing notes instead. Personal, short, non-ho-ho-ho-ish notes that just say the stuff that matters [to me].
Though I suppose I shouldn't put that in present tense, since I haven't gotten off my ass to start them yet. How hard can it be? I know what I want to say. I...just...don't. Do it.
Helps that I've only received one card so far. That's a definite improvement on those years when I've gotten more than one before Thanksgiving. - Parties. Ahhh, holiday parties. I'm skipping one right now, as I type this. I even neglected to answer the phone when I got the reminder call from the hostess, which I suppose was pretty tactless of me. In my defense (do I need defense?) I've spent most of the day asleep; I'm in the midst of a shift from one Big Bad Medicine [i.e. migraine prophylaxis] to another, so my body's all weird and my brain's not far behind. I just ate dinner: 6 Frosted Mini Wheats. (Hi, Asking Man!) I'm contemplating a bath, not because I'm particularly needing one but because I'm very, very cold. (I've already turned the thermostat up 2 degrees from normal. So much for the too-warm version of me!)
Anyway. Parties. Too many people in a room with too much food, wearing clothes that people just should know not to wear (what's with all the red, on people who should not wear red?), acting as if they could not be more pleased to spend time with...usually people that they're around all the damned time anyway? Yuck. And eating too much, of the wrong stuff. And drinking. And exchanging useless gifts. And
Merry Christmas. Grrr.
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