I’m as sick of the microfluff updates as you are, so here’s an actual attempt to create some controversy-free content (I’m saving the controversy for Sunday).
I am Stressed Out. As much as I love Doing Things and Holiday Cheer (and, evidently, Random Capitalization), I tend to freak out when my calendar gets too full – above all else, I value my downtime because that is when I get to take naps and sit around without pants on. I *could* do these things while I’m outside being social, but I kind of want to keep being social into the new year and I don’t think I would get invited out as often if I made a habit of being naked.
I don’t think it’s just my calendar that is worrying me, though. I’m traditionally neurotic around the holiday season – even though I’m as dysfunctional as they come, I am driven by a blinding quantum singularity to try and make everyone else literally burst with joy and merriment. That sounds like a good idea and all, until I inevitably take it too far and ruin my OWN holidays by worrying myself sick that I saw a frown or a grimace or a hamburgler. I don’t WANT to stress out that everything won’t be Hallmark Perfect, since it rarely is – but each year I send myself into a panic attack, and I can feel one brewing. I usually waffle between despair and resentment – despair because Ed refuses to play along with my compulsive obsession to get him the ultimate, best ever, boner-inducing perfect holiday gift that will make angels sing and jizz fountains of rainbows all over the place; and resentment because NO ONE ELSE CARES if our holiday goes off without a hitch. Then I feel all guilty because obviously I didn’t do enough to make everyone festive and jolly, meaning I’ve likely ruined Christmas for EVERYONE EVER, and ..
It’s a vicious circle, and I hate it. It’s all my mother’s fault – one disastrous Christmas during my formative years equals a completely unstable Kimli who rings in each holiday season with an over-compensating need for perfection that inevitably leads to financial hardship on my part as I try to prove my love for people with needlessly expensive and thoughtful gifts.
We haven’t discussed what we’re doing for Friendmas this year, but last year’s necessity-driven plan of Let’s Eat Everything Ever was actually a lot of fun – I’d be up for doing that again this year, if we’re all in town. Anyone?
Back to being busy, though. I desperately want to go down to Seattle one weekend to spend some Quality Time with the Suttleseseses, but I’m full up between now and January thanks to TEDxVancouver, Got Craft, visiting friend (!!!!), work parties, Xmas itself, and hopefully something fun for New Year’s Eve. When will I nap? When will I beat up Ed because he won’t give me any goddamn ideas as to what he wants for gifty times? When will I find the time to work on my ass groove in the couch?
There’s another facet to my already multi-sided stress: my promotion came with party planning, which is fantastic – I like doing it, and I’m strangely good at it (because I’m fucking neurotic about all the little details). However, this means I’m now responsible for the workplace merriment of almost 100 people – not to mention Doing Some Good; my lobby to Adopt a Family this year received rave reviews so I’m in charge of that, too. What if I fail? Failing means I’d be ruining the holidays for a needy family, and that would destroy me. Can I sufficiently pump people up enough so they donate to the cause? What if I can’t? That won’t happen – I’ll fund the damn thing myself if I have to. The bank will understand if I can’t pay my mortgage this month, right?
I think I may throw up.