The words never come at the time you want them to.
The joy of Christmas didn’t hit me until yesterday morning, Christmas morning, when I put on some Christmas music and started dancing to it in my underwear. Shh! :X (*gasp* I know, you’re not supposed to know this, but I’m telling you anyway. I blame ConCru. Since meeting them and writing with them I’ve become a little more personal in my writing, although still shy about sharing my deepest, darkest secrets. I mean there’s more than one way to do this, obviously, but while taking writing classes at university I developed the belief that a really good writer is not afraid to get dirrty and show the detailed truth about living.) It occurred to me that dancing in my underwear is like dancing in a bikini. And it made me laugh like little gems of revelation usually do. And it made me look at my body in the mirror. And it made me realize that yeah, I don’t look exactly like those pictures in the magazines or a pageant contestant during the swimsuit competition, but I like what I see in the mirror. And that my lovelies, was a reason to be joyous all in itself.
I made it home yesterday, after a two-hour drive with my caterwauling tabby in the single digit weather. I woke up today and it didn’t feel like Christmas. We don’t have any Christmas decorations up around the house. We don’t have Christmas music playing (though I did play my one “Nutcracker” CD on the stereo today). We’re not going to have a big family reunion. We’re not exchanging presents either.
It didn’t feel like Christmas. Instead, it felt like Stress. And the thing is, it shows on my face. Yes, I have broken out. I am also acting like a person who hasn’t gotten laid in a while. (You get the idea.) So what am I stressed about? Two different career paths I have to work on, getting more into shape, lining up my life to be more like what Jesus would want and relationships that need repairing, letting go, or starting. Well, I guess when you get Stressed, you get Pimples Galore. Yeah, I look like a toad right now. It’s not pretty. What’s really sad is I probably got this way from overanalyzing people. I know, I know. A writer overanalyzing people. What a shocker.
But no, really. One of my strongest strengths is the skill of observation. It’s a blessing and a curse. I can do detail-oriented work, but I can’t be around people for too long. In addition to my Pimples Galore, I have tired eyes that say I’ve been losing sleep on everything I’ve been thinking about. I’m not sure I even have a point to this post. I have a lot to work on and Christmas has got to feel like Christmas again.