where wildly different is perfectly normal
Fa la la la wha’?
Fa la la la wha’?

Fa la la la wha’?

Well, hello there holiday season! Didn’t see you come in, you sneaky little bastard, you. I would have baked a cake or hung some lights or, I dunno, been better prepared. I know, Thanksgiving should have tipped me off, but I was crashed out on the couch in a pecan pie stupor for several days. Took Cyber Monday to smack me out of the sugar overload.

How am I going to deal with you this year, holiday season? Last year I flipped you the bird and said to come back in twelve months. And…here you are, right on schedule. I want to like you, love you even. I want to sail through your days with a careless ease, smiling at the lights and breathing deeply of the cookie aromas coming from my kitchen. Instead, I know it’s just going to end up being another year of saying “screw it” to decorations because wrestling them out of the garage is a pain in the freezing cold butt, and since I still haven’t remotely mastered gluten-free baking after 4 1/2 years, cookies will be ignored as well. And where are we going to put the Christmas tree this year, dear holiday season? We honestly haven’t a single inch; I’ve considered a vinyl cling for the wall. We really want to send out cards for the first time in three years, too many people think we still live in Colorado. Will our daily chaos allow that for a change?

Nothing like you showing up to show to me just how over-extended I am. Thanks. I think.

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