Oh dear, am I going to have a Wrist to Forehead Saturday on Christmas Eve Eve? It would seem that way, since I am currently, clench-teethedly fighting the type-it-in-then-backspace-it-out disease. I have not done enough for a Scattered Saturday. I did not go running. I left the house once, and the most notable thing about that was how much further around the parking lot I walked to avoid stepping in deep puddles. All I could think of was how I used to LOVE slushing through the slush when I was a kid. And how dumb I was not to wear my flood boots. Well, one cannot always think of everything.
I have been doing some Christmas making but not baking. White Trash and Chex Party Mix (full disclosure: I use store brand cereal). I thought I might forgo the cookies but now am second-guessing myself. I could spend the evening or tomorrow morning baking cookies. How can I have Christmas without cookies? What kind of a lazy, Scroogey, Grinchy kind of scumbag am I? And I already bought the chocolate chips. How selfish would it be of me to keep them from their ultimate destiny of brightening somebody’s Christmas in a delicious cookie.
This is how I beat myself up at the holidays. If dithering burned calories, I could eat all the cookies I wanted and still be a size five (yes, I was a size five once, as an adult; it didn’t last long). I know, Christmas is not supposed to be about material things like presents and good food (or presents of good food), but presence and good friends (the presence of good friends) and family. My problem is I am not such a great shakes as a human being that people should be happy just to see ME. And it is certainly a lot easier to bake cookies and wrap a present than to try to improve my humanity.
Oh well, maybe my small heart will grow three sizes one day. In the meantime, I am over 300 words and I just thought of a fairly catchy title for this foolishness. It makes it a kind of a Non-Sequitur Saturday, but I like it. Merry Christmas Eve Eve, everyone.