Some time this afternoon the inevitable shift to the Hemorrhoidal Part of the pre-Christmas week occurred. Almost indistinguishably, like a silent but deadly, moods tipped to edgy and irritable. An icy slip of bitchiness here, a little acting out there, agreeability turns on its heel and swiftly walks away: we are in The Christmas Rush.
Since I don't deal with anyone unless I choose to, I choose not to more often this week. There is always the unavoidable, but really, the rampant emotional swings are so unnecessary. In a few days it'll all be overwith and I carry the slim hope that next year it won't happen. It's tough to keep an even keel when you're stressed and tired. But come now, if you've seen more than 50 Christmases you should have a grip on what goes on.
And so I step back and wait for the pissy parade to pass. It will. On the 24th, as it always does.
Meanwhile, Greg has made a Christmas card for us all
And there is silly joy out there
And I thank whoever first invented Irish cream for the twinkle in my eye and my ability to brush off the fallout.
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