Today is December 11. Christmas Day is exactly two weeks from today. Usually, the house is decorated, holiday tunes are blaring, the oven is in overdrive, and I have the grown-up equivalent of a child's excitement level.
So what's wrong with me this year?
I just didn't have the heart to drag the big tree down from the half-story, so I brought down a three-footer and decorated it last night. Not near as many lights or decorations, but when Santa comes to my house, he can put a checkmark by "has Christmas tree up".
The battery-operated candle lights are not yet in the windows. Just the idea of checking batteries and crawling over beds and moving tables and furniture and curtains and shutters to put them on the sills makes me suddenly very tired.
The shopping is done, which is a good thing--unless my sisters come up with something else that I need to buy for someone. I am in a serious money crunch right now and have been most of this year. The paycheck doesn't go nearly as far as it used to, and I can't find the culprit, unless it's the new-to-me car I bought in the summer, which was a necessity.
Last year, I had love--wonderful, sweet love--in my life at the holidays. They were the best holidays ever. Now, I have uncertainty and loneliness and pain. I haven't even popped a Christmas music CD in the player yet this season. Just no heart to do so.
Maybe if it snowed, I would get a bit of spirit in me. Maybe if I stopped feeling sorry for myself and went out of my way to make everyone else's Christmas merry and bright, I would snap out of it. I really don't know what the magic solution is, but I hope I find it soon. Holidays are for enjoying, not dreading.