We're deep in the snow of Christmas cards and Christmas (mass mailing) letters, and pictures of grown up kids (how did the time pass so fast, and where was I?), and other holiday reminders.
Next to my head are three boxes of cards I bought to send our own missives. They're making good dust catchers.
Why do I feel so guilty as each new card arrives? Why don't I get off my spreading ass and at least send cards to everyone who's sent us one?
Because.
Because I'm lazy. A kind of laziness settles into my skin and sinks into my bones that paralyzes me.
Because it's raining today, rather than snowing, a sleety gray rain that's coating everything in the world with blech.
Because tomorrow we're heading off to Boston, then Philly, and we're not packed, the house is a mess, people around here are dropping off Christmas presents and I feel compelled to reciprocate, the cats are insane, jumping on all the furniture and demanding my yelling wrath, I'm still in my pajamas, I haven't had breakfast yet, and Lizzie's scootching to open her presents but we have to wait until Dave gets home from work.
Because I have nothing very exciting to write in each card. I could point everyone to the blog festivals, but then--what if they're not all people I want to invite to the festival? Somehow, I don't think the hyperreligious aunt and uncle in Texas want to read about my problems with happy pills.
Because a kind of holiday inertia (not to be confused with the lazy paralysis described above) has me by the throat.
Because the last place I want to end up is the post office.
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We're leaving tomorrow, so I'll be writing again in the New Year.
Happy holidays, merry Christmas, feliz navidad, happy new year, happy kwanza, hannukah, etctera and so forth, everyone.
L.
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