I kept telling myself that I was going to finish the year for the 52 weeks of happiness posts, but I've realized that it's not going to happen. And really making myself do things should be reserved for folding laundry and cleaning bathrooms, not my "spare" time.
I feel like Christmas is this big hulking blob that's closing in on me, yet again. I'm not sobbing in the corner every night, but I still would skip it all if I could. And I'm pretty sure that this is as good as it's ever going to be.
