In a tizzy.

I'm in a tizzy of Christmasness. Having the day off, I'm completely confused as to what to do with it. I know I have a million holiday-related errands, but which to do today? Which? Which?!

That's the problem with me. Well, one of many. Given unlimited freedom I can't get a grip. I need someone to tell me where to go, what to do, how to spend my time. Otherwise I wander like an aimless … an aimless … thing that wanders.

Wrapping gifts is one thing on the extended list. That would help me have a better grip on who's who and what's what. The problem is I still have stuff on its way from Amazon, and other virtual places. So, keep a list, you say. Practical, yes, but I tend to lose things like lists. One year I carefully tallied what gifts we were giving the kids, and which were coming from Santa. I lost it. Guess who found it?

Yep. I had to do some fancy talking about how I let Santa know the gifts of which I spoke were things I hoped he'd bring. Because they made my credit cards shiver in terror. The kids sort of half bought it, at least enough for them to fake it a few more years. For the extra gifts.

There's the task of sending off a few more holiday cards, too. There were a couple surprise cards I didn't expect, necessitating return cards. Don't you just hate that? But 'tis the season. You have to be nice to others, even those you barely know. OR ELSE.

Interesting message we give kids at yuletide, isn't it? If you're not good, you get nothing. If you are good, you get all sorts of material things. Because material things are what we give people who are GOOD. Bad people get no taste of capitalistic generosity, because they suck eggs. Rotten, rotten eggs.

Weird, but I guess that's our interpretation of what Christ intended. Though how he managed to be a good newborn I don't know, getting all that myrrh and such. Just what every baby wants. You can never have enough myrrh around the house. Hope it goes on sale soon. I'm running low.

Oh, and don't get me started on Christmas Carols! Some great messages of love and joy in those, too:

"Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying
Sealed in the stone-cold tomb."

Hey, let's party! Pass the eggnog before I get that image out of my head.

Then there's the idea Santa watches you through your windows. Nothing creepy about that. Otherwise, we'd call him a pervert. At the least a peeping Nicholas, and call the cops on him:

"Officer, there's a man in a red suit looking at me through my windows. I woke up and he was standing there, staring at me. And his reindeer? They completely stomped my garden, leaving droppings everywhere. One of them even has a red, glowing nose. Arrest that man!"

Shortly after he'd hang up on you. "Weirdo," he'd say.

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The decorating I've finished – at least all I'm doing. It's pretty sad, actually, but I'm going the simple route this year. Certainly, it's more than I wanted to do. It doesn't look like a Christmas factory blew up in my house like it used to, in the old days. The tree is up, the mantle embellished by a handful of Santas from my collection. The stairway features a lighted garland, and every holiday card we get is taped to the kitchen doorway. Outside the house are "icicle" lights, which look like the natural thing – if they're attached to cords and multi-colored. We didn't stick our lighted deer in the ground, the ones that look as if they have Parkinson's Disease, then break less than a week into the season.

Wish you could see the Santa decoration down the street. Talk about creepy. It's a real-looking thing sitting in an easy chair, waving and shaking his head back and forth, I guess in an attempt to say, "Dream on, suckers! The recession hit the North Pole, too. Be happy with the sugar plums dancing in your heads, 'cause Santa's portfolio bit the big one."

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I think I have my list ready. Miracle of miracles! See, and people say blogs are just navel-gazing. BAH! The world's a richer place for my having discussed my errands of the day with you. Could you have rested comfortably otherwise? I didn't think so. And today's schedule isn't too grueling. That's the best part. I can fit it all on an index card.

Now that's my idea of a holiday. Decorate as little as possible, buy as few things as possible, sing songs about death, and drink 'til you forget another year has passed and you've completely pissed it away.

Joy to the world!

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