In spite of the fact that Christmas has not been my favorite holiday for a number of years, I find that I am usually able to gear up for the season. I have Christmas music CDs that I am often itching to play by mid-November. I delight in selecting a wreath and decorating my house. I start shopping sometimes by Halloween. I get all excited about how many different kinds of cookies I can make and the special food items I can bring. I bombard the Post Office with cards. I seek out lighting displays. I love choosing pretty wrapping paper, and I have a library of holiday movies that I start watching on Dec 1.
But this year feels like I sat on a punctured whoopee cushion. Maybe it's that my hormones have been on strike (no, I have nothing to announce) and it's been an awfully rough December for me. Maybe it's my depression and generalized anxiety rearing their ugly
heads (great timing, guys). Maybe it's that Christmas is late in the week and, since I don't take off before the holiday, I feel pressed for time on my must-be-last-minute stuff (cookies can't exactly be done more than a few days in advance, and our family recipe for rolls is a Day-Of thing). Maybe it's been too gray this year. Maybe it's that so many homes in the area are vacant or foreclosed that the lighting displays are weak at best. Maybe it's all the bad news we've been hearing since September that sets such a gloomy air. Or, yes, maybe it's that my heart is two sizes too small. Whatever it is, nothing seems particularly festive and I have a hard time finding any semblance of spirit.
Husband had to convince me to decorate this year because I really wasn't feeling it. I whipped into Cox Farms alone after work two weeks ago and grabbed the first wreath I saw with a top-fixed bow rather than taking time to select the right size, shape, and arrangement. I'm sure it didn't help that I was in pantyhose and heels on a gravel lot. Instead of inciting joy and peacefulness, my CDs are an irritatant and I'm choosing Offspring and Fiona Apple over Tchaikovsky and Diana Krall. At the blowout office holiday party, I felt nervous and awkward and left early; and before you tell me that you wished you could have cut out early from yours, let me say that Company does up one hell of a party and I had planned on shutting the place down. I've so far watched exactly one holiday movie (Elf), and whereas I often bake at least five different kinds of cookies, this year I'm hard pressed to make the two requisite (sugar cookies and chocolate cherry thumbprints) and one maybe (caramel cookies). I didn't even feel the love when I made the fruitcake this year.
(Yes I make - and eat! - and love! - fruitcake. Now stop laughing or I'll throw it at you and if you value your facial structure, trust me, you don't want that.)
None of this is like me. I had lunch with Friend Kristin today and, while that cheered me up a little, she agreed that this is very un-Rosie. In years past, I've at least been able to fake it. But this year... maybe I'm just done with 2008.
I know I'm just a big barrel of warm fuzzies right now, but this is my blog, dammit, and I get to write about how I feel, be it peppy, funny, sarcastic, or depressing. And you all have to read it because you can't help yourselves. Let it be known: Rosie is broken. Please to fix.
However, I will end on a high note, so that I don't have you all reaching for the revolvers. I promise I will arrive at all functions on time (except to those to which I already made it clear that I would be late) and with a smile, offering cookies and showing gratitude. I will be sunshine and lollipops, or gingerbread and candy canes. I promise to spend the free part of the weekend watching Baryshnikov, Rudolph, Charlie Brown, and Mr. Grinch until my eyes bleed. With luck, that will trip the switch and I will be my sugar plum self.
Besides, I am down 10 lbs since October and am working out more regularly, so more yet may come off. Yay!
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