Today's Quote: "The tender friendships one gives up, on parting, leave their bite on the heart, but also a curious feeling of a treasure somewhere buried. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
Well, I'm back after a 4 month hiatus, and still I don't believe I have anything much to say. Often I find myself longing to write, and I consider writing here, but words just don't come. So, don't expect anything even remotely profound. I'm just going to free-write and see where it takes me.
I started preparing for Christmas in September. I let myself get really excited about the holiday, making all kinds of elaborate plans. I hand made many gifts. Beaded necklace and earring sets, compilation CDs, books of poetry. I carefully selected the right gift for the right person. I turned my craft workshop into a gift wrapping center. I curled yards of ribbon. I spent weeks baking. Pistachio cookies, wine biscuits, two kinds of fudge, magic cookie bars, home made chex mix. Christmas Eve came and I felt like a child anxiously awaiting the arrival of Santa Claus. I went to Christmas Eve service and sang carols with gusto. That night I hardly slept, waking every few hours to peek at the alarm clock. And finally Christmas arrived, and it was everything I hoped it would be. It was as magical as I had imagined it. The kids were delighted with what they found under the tree. We were surrounded by family, included our newest family member, my 7 week old niece, Mae. Dinner was perfect. Everyone was happy. It was exactly the way I dreamed it.
AND THEN IT WAS OVER. Done. Just like that. No more Christmas music on the radio. No more arrival of packages in the mail. No more Christmas cards. No more shopping, wrapping, or planning. No more hustle and bustle. No more anticipation. It's over. And I feel directionless and purposeless. Gone is my focal point. This is nothing new, by the way. I almost always feel this way in the days immediately following Christmas. I get myself all worked up, until I'm brimming with joy, and then I CRASH. It's been this way since I was a kid. And I come by it honestly. My grandmother was the same exact way. Eventually, it will pass. I'll start to feel normal again. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier to get through. If I could I think I'd just spend the next two weeks in bed with the covers over my head. I'd come out again when all signs of Christmas were gone. When the ornaments and the lights were packed away, the sweets and leftovers eaten up or thrown away. It wounds weird, I know. And, at almost 40 years of age, one might think I'd be better able to cope with this, having experienced it most of my life. But it manages to knock me on my butt year after year.
I could now attempt to make this post more cheerful, to end it on a lighter note, but I'm not going to. It would be forced and contrived, and who wants that? Perhaps next time I write I will be in a better place. And maybe I won't wait 4 months to write again.