It's not supposed to be this hard. Where is the egg nog in front of the fire? Where are the quiet moments watching old movies? I feel like the man in the Stephen Leacock book who "jumped on his horse and rode off rapidly in all directions." Christmas is running away with me. Some of my friends start their preparations in August. I hate them. They have been wrapped for weeks and all they have to do now is go to the parties, or sit on a bench at the mall and laugh at everyone else. Much as I love them, I've created a special circle in hell just for them. They will pay.
Meanwhile there is a funeral this morning (not mine) and first things first. It's a terrible time of year to lose a loved one, and my heart aches for the family. I am a horrible human being, however, and spending more time than I should wondering if we really have to go to the "afters" and if we do, how quickly can we exit so we can get something else done. This is not what Christmas is supposed to be. This is not how we are supposed to live. Yet every year I seem to get caught up in the Christmas Tornado. Unfortunately, mine seems to land my tired posterior in Kansas more often than in Oz.