I'm definitely not Tiny Tim. I'm not even the Ghost of Christmas Past. I *might* be the Ghost of Christmas Present, assuming I'm the version from "Scrooged" starring the ever-lovable Bill Murray, 'cause dang, that girl kicks... everything. But she's annoying. I dunno, maybe I am, too. I have once been portrayed as the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, and that was awesome, but I don't think I could fit into that gear any more, even in a cartoon form.
I'm about one step away from Bah, Humbug.
Don't get me wrong. I love Christmas and tradition and seeing the kids get excited.
I love it when Oz goes up to get my grandmother from my teensy tinsey town in Kansas and picks me up over 2 lbs. of homemade fudge from the drug store for something like $10 and there are four different flavors in the box. Hello, Peanut Butter Fudge. I can see you and my waistline are going to be GREAT friends.
I even love seeing the tree twinkle and watching the lights come on outside every night.
BUT. The shopping. The people. The pressure I put on myself for every holiday to be perfect. It eats me alive, and I wind up at some point during the holiday hating Christmas.
I have to let go so that future Christmases aren't like that, but I'm not sure how. Right now I'm relaxing with fudge, wine, and a good friend. It's a start. Later I'm going to dope up the tree with gifts and sleep off my grandmother's visit.
And on that slightly somber note, have a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!!! (And I mean that from the bottom of my heart in the 'I know what it's like to NOT have a Merry Christmas so REALLY have a good one' kind of way!)