Okay, I just don't feel like working. All right? I mean, I need to work. I should work. It's time for work...
But I don't wanna work.
I consulted Santa--as played by Yoda. He said, "Here, have a candy cane. And may the force be with you."
Thanks a bunch, Santa.
Last year, I had a 12/28 deadline. Now that was fun. Not. This year, I planned better. My deadline is February 1, '08. Plenty of time to write Tanner's story and enjoy the holidays.
And yet, here I am. Typing a sentence. Not liking it. Hitting the backspace button until, once again, I face a screen as blank as a field of new-fallen snow. And really, I think, I simply can't sit here one single minute longer.
So I get up to pour a fresh glass of iced tea--and find myself distracted by the burning need to hear White Christmas just one more time, to plug in the tree lights and bask in the seasonal glow. To wrap a few presents, make a holiday phone call or two.
Yes. It's true. I'm a Christmas junkie.
Should I simply resign myself? Should I accept the fact that, no matter how carefully I plan, I am destined to end up in January, sweating bullets, racing to meet a deadline that is suddenly upon me, bearing down on me, looming before me, undeniable. Terrifying. Implacable. And other words with more than three syllables.
By then, of course, I'm appalled that I didn't have the sense to spend my December more wisely.
What's a girl to do?
Work smart? Or give it up and get seriously festive and pay the price after the dawn of the New Year?
Festive is better. I mean, really. It's only once a year...