I woke up this morning intending to do the several loads of laundry that have piled up. I intended to clean the kitchen and at least wipe out the bathroom. I'd seriously intended to vacuum the front room. I fully intended to bundle up like I used to (years of playing in the snow without snow pants taught me how to do this effectively) and take Kobold on a nice long walk to get some of his winter-frustrated energy out. I intended to cook a really spectacular dinner for Patrick when he got home from class. I had a truly excellent Christmas-themed mini-adventure all planned out to run at D&D tonight (involving gnomes, minotaur, and copious amounts of alcohol).
What really happened was that I woke up this morning, stumbled into the bathroom, fed Kobold, and then bundled up a bit to take him out. From there, I sat down at the computer and ate breakfast. I did my normal email-webcomic-blog routine. I putzed around on facebook for a little while chatting with Bob about various things.
I did not get up and collect the laundry. I did not make the kitchen sparkly, nor did I even think about wiping that little bit of toothpaste from yesterday out of the sink.
No. I sent out a text message to my AlTawd group saying that there would be no D&D tonight, as I was not feeling up for it.
Then, I sat down on the couch with some knitting and watched Mythbusters.
Dinner tonight is leftovers.
I am seriously drained from work, though Monday was blessedly slow and I could take my time doing my job, rather than running around like a psychopath. I am sure that this weekend will outright kill me, and Christmas Eve is looming over us all. I'm sure that even though we're only open for seven hours on Christmas Eve (we close early at 6) just about every staff member will be scheduled, and we will probably be incapacitated with business.
The holiday spirit had eluded my grasping, frost-bitten hands up until a few days ago, when I was doing the dishes and put on some Christmas music to listen to. I had just roasted a chicken and mashed some potatoes (with peas for me and spinach for Patrick) and was cleaning up from the endeavor. It was hugely successful and Patrick said that I should not cook like this very often because he was sure he would ravish me with kisses for treating him so good.
So there I am, listening to The Chieftain's version of A Boar's Head Carol, and it struck me that I wanted it to be Christmas. The feeling was a long time coming, partly due to money and time constraints this year, but it was there. Patrick and I have our tree now, and it is sitting primly next to the front windows (with glowing snowflake lights on them) waiting to be decorated on Christmas Eve.
There's no particular reason that I want to wait, it's just that I always have. I like seeing the tree in its natural (read: undecorated) state, and the excitement of waiting to do the decorating (I have tinsel and jelly belly candycanes) is great. When I was a very young child, Santa Claus would decorate the tree on Christmas Eve when he came to give us our presents. So, once we were in bed asleep, my parents would do everything so that when we came downstairs (at 6 A.M.) the living room was suddenly a magical place. I have lots of wonderful Christmas memories, and some not so wonderful.
There was Bob, the Boomerang Tree. And the year Emily got her conductor's baton. The year Emily, my mom, and I were all sick and Em had to force me out of bed to open presents. I got a gift early that year: I giant stuffed bear (about half my size at the time) because my coughing was so bad that my mom wanted me to have something soft to hug while I hacked up a lung. His name is Theodore Edward Bear, and I still love him very much. To this day he is my sick-time bear, and he always keeps me company when I am plague-ridden. Good thing Ted E. Bear can't contract my illnesses.
The boar's head in hand bear I
Bedecked with bays and rosemary
And I pray you, my masters, be merry
Quot estis in convivio (as many as are in the feast)
Boar's Head Carol (traditional English Christmas Carol)