Inertia

I am sorry to be a little late again today with the post. I am also sorry for all those who had to go in to work today, especially if they were the principal executors of their families’ holiday preparations. I could not have gone in to an office today.

I awoke as usual, between six and seven this morning. I told myself, “You have to get up. You have to feed the cats. You have to go to exercise class. You have to write your blog.”

“You have to turn over and go back to sleep.”

 Then I succumbed to the intense force of gravity that pulled me deep into my Stearns & Foster Pillowtop mattress. At around eight, I started to wonder why I was so tired. Granted, I did get up early yesterday to work at church, but then I came home and spent the rest of the afternoon on the sofa. And I went to bed early. I had no idea why I’d be so tired. I hadn’t felt this fatigued since, oh, right after last Christmas.

Then the vignettes started rolling in my head. They started around the second week of November. Designing Christmas cards, writing the dreaded holiday letter. Having the letter printed. Then re-printed. Shopping. Wrapping. Shipping. Side-stepping contractors working in our home during the most important three weeks of the year. Traveling on business while, thankfully, my husband did all the decorating. Trading infections four times with my husband. Meal planning. Entertaining. Grocery shopping: many trips to many stores, timed just so, to maximize product quality and freshness. Cooking. Lots of cooking. Meeting my son’s new girlfriend and hoping she’d like us. Adhering to written budgets and project plans. Following timelines set so that the three of us could get out the door for church on time Christmas Eve. Failure. They weren’t ready on time, so I left them. (As they’d say on Everybody Loves Raymond, I AIS’ed ‘em.)

Then came Christmas Day. We slept in, which was heavenly, and enjoyed a nice breakfast followed by exchanging gifts. We Skyped in my brother-in-law, who joined us via satellite at his usual seat on the sofa.

My husband cleaned up the wrapping paper, cautioning me, “You know, when I die, you are going to have to take over this job.” Wow, I have only 25 years to learn how to put trash in a bag.

After that was done, napping and movie-watching ensued while I spent three and a half hours in the kitchen preparing dinner. This included the traditional ritual of a kitchen accident which, this year, involved my slamming two fingers in a metal door.

The phone finally got me out of bed this morning at 9:45. Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow what that was about. In the meantime: Cats fed. Exercise class missed. Blog written. Back to bed.