No, I'm not dancing it. Although, come to think of it, the sight of me flat on my back trying to wriggle under a pole would probably go viral on YouTube. Especially when my family ends up grabbing me by the ankles and tries to pull me out from under said bar because either my stomach or my chest have become stuck. This is the sort of thing that happens to me. My clothes have actually fallen off in public. Twice.
So this is what I call Limbo Week. It's the week that there's both nothing to do, and everything to do. I have read internet posts from people who took their Christmas Trees down over the week-end and isn't it great to have everything back to normal? Well, sure but what do you do for New Year's? Perhaps a new set of decorations is in order. A large wreath of roses with a football in the middle. Or maybe a collage of corporate sponsors of the New Year's day festivities? A FedEx guy delivering an overnight envelope from Citi while munching Tostitos might work.
No, this week is just depressing. Yes, I'm off work. The tree is still up and I keep staring at it. Christmas is over, but the holidays aren't. Besides, the trash truck won't be around until next Monday and the cat has taken to drinking from the water bowl under the tree. I've been wondering if this is a good thing for him to do. But a) it's infinitely better than his normal activity of drinking out of the toilet and b) he's a cat. TRY and stop him.
I had great plans for this week off. A day trip to Hearst Castle to see the Christmas Trees. A movie or two. Sleeping late, staying up late.
Last Friday was the much longed for Christmas. At least my kids were longing for it. The meager bank account was drained for the event. I could, of course, be spending this week playing with the gifts my family so lovingly chose and placed under the tree...oh wait! I didn't get any. None of those oafs made me a crayon card, spent 5 bucks at the "everything $3.99" pergola at the mall or offered to scrub my floor for me. The Christmas money my father gave me was immediately handed over to the hubster to make his car payment. I am spending the entire week at home, watching "Let's Make a Deal" (which I Can. Not. Stand btw, Mr."it's MY remote") being torn as to whether or not I should just chuck the damn tree and be done with it. providing three meals a day AND doing the dishes and hauling the laundry to the local sudsatorium so my husband will have clean clothes to take to Las Vegas for a FREAKING WEEK next week while I hold down the fort here.
Bitter, party of one? You're table's ready.
This is what I HATE about the holidays. Someone usually ends up working their butt off and that someone is usually ME. I guess it's a mother/wife thing, I dunno. I was invited to NO parties, NO Christmas dinners and no one came to see me. My husband, in deciding to cut off his remaining parent and step-parent managed to alienate the rest of us from what little family we had. My step-MIL drives everyone to drink (which has never bothered me, in fact I look forward to it) and provides us with HOURS of stories. All gone. She played a nasty game with hubby and he fell for it, hook, line and sinker. He has separated not only himself from his father but his sons from their grandfather. This is the sort of crap that comes to light during the holidays. Not just in my home either, there's some of this stuff, to a greater or lesser degree, going on with the two of you who read this. It simmers all year and then someone always ends up bumping the knob on the stove and full boil is achieved almost instantaneously.
I blame Dickens. No one really gets redeemed at Christmas. The Gas Company turned off the gas of an unemployed, down on her luck woman in the Los Angeles area for Christmas. They found her dead this morning, she tried to heat her home with briquettes. The homeless won't be fed again until Easter, apparently hungry, homeless people only need food and shelter twice a year. But Dickens made us all believe that there are Scrooges everywhere who wake up on Christmas morning redeemed, who bring joy and happiness to others and live out their lives pouring the milk of human kindness into the glasses of the poor.
Dickens was full of crap.