The day after Thanksgiving, my mom and I bought a small Christmas tree to set up on a table next to my dad’s bed. Three days later, he was gone. Two weeks after that, so was the Christmas tree.
I’ve never been one to decorate my place, and in the 13 years I’ve lived by myself, not once have I bought a Christmas tree. Of course, the holidays this year feel less like holidays. The Big Day is Saturday, and it’s really the last thing on my mind.
I’m playing catch-up at work. I’m getting over a cold, and I’m still readjusting to Central Time.
I haven’t thought about whether I want anything to open up on Christmas Day. Sure, I bought myself some new toys which I’ve already put to use, but as for something Herr Sinterklaas would leave under my non-existent tree, I draw a blank. Well, there’s always my Amazon wish list.
No, I think the only thing I want this year is for my life to return to normal. I’d like to go back to working on stuff for Eponymous 4. I’d like to have my weekly margarita with Double-A. I’d like to save up for something other than an emergency trip back home. The emergency has passed, and now it’s time to start living. Maybe a trip to New York City is in order.
Maybe for my birthday.