Get up. Shop. Sleep.

Holy crap, I’m tired. I go to bed early every night, and every morning I wake up with the insidious little voice in my head telling me to go back to sleep. I think it’s the cold. The nights are around ten degrees. My car is very grumpy about starting, and takes about twenty minutes warm up for; the drive to the bus stop is fifteen. I need gas, but I don’t have time to get gas tonight, so I have to hope like hell the tank doesn’t freeze before I can fill it up tomorrow. One thumb of my gloves is still stiff from the ill-fated latte, and my scarf will smell like soy until I can do laundry this weekend. GRRR. I hate the cold.

I still have so much shopping to do; my list has spiraled into sublists, and I don’t know how I’m going to keep track of everything once it actually all gets bought. And I keep adding things on, like I forgot about my dog, so I have to get her something, and I forgot my friends who live out east, and need their gifts mailed to them (sigh), and just yesterday I remembered I haven’t bought Christmas cards yet. I hate when things like this get on top of me; it reminds me of my paper-writing days: I knew I had to do write some stupid essay, but I didn’t even know what my topic was going to be or have any sources, and I would just turn it over and over in my mind until I thought I was going to hyperventilate, and the stress made me so nuts it actually wore me out and I ended up taking a nap. But when I got up, got a latte, and got focused, all was well again. I’m feeling that now. I need my stress nap, so that I may focus.
Let me give you an idea of what my list is looking like about now:

My Dog: A bone (to distract her while we open presents on Christmas morning),
A new leash (hers is too short; I bought it when she was a puppy)

My Cat: Catnip. She’s too fat for treats, and I need her to burn some freaking calories; I don’t care if she’s high while she’s doing it.

Starbucks secret Santa: I have no idea. Do I really want to get a stupid gift card? I hate it that that’s all I have to fall back on. I usually get boys boxers, but his wife might disapprove. I’ll ask around at work tonight, find out what he likes.

My Grama: Lotus Tea. They apparently only sell it at Starbucks, and she’s nuts about it. I think she’s getting two boxes.

My Father: Lord knows. He wants a coat rack, but that’s pretty lame. It doesn’t help that he keeps clipping things out of magazines for me to get him, with accompanying “nudge-nudge-wink-wink”s. I don’t want to get him something he’s expecting, and he’s apparently expecting everything you would see in every catalog in the world. It’s really annoying; if he doesn’t cut it out, he’s getting socks.

Friend from NH: Socks. What?

Ex-boyfriend (the nice one, not the evil one): A stocking full of stuff. Good stuff, too, like cheese and sausages and candy, and probably boxers, because he’s a boy, and I know he never buys new clothes. I worry about his smalls, yes, but not in the way you think. I just want to know they’re clean. ‘Smalls’ are underwear, in case that was ambiguous. Perv.

Jensy, Joy, Janelle: The three girls I went to Europe with. We met in England, and saw most of the surrounding area together, and still call and email each other as much as we can—I miss them horribly. They’re all getting engraved postcard ornaments telling them how much I love and miss them, and the time we spent together. *sniffle!*

Norah: The same gift as above. This girl I met in college, and we still email every once in a while, but less frequently than the others. I think she pushes her friends away because she needs to prove she can do everything by herself. She hates being helped, I mean. I’m sure she’s thrilled I’m telling you this. Her Yule card will be arriving in my mail any day now, so we always send each other holiday gifts. Mine has so much sentimentality she’ll have to close the door so she can cry. Perfect.

My Little Sister: So not telling. It’s too awesome.

It makes me feel better to write that all out; it makes me feel like I’m getting something done, even if I’m just talking about it. I’ll hit Target this weekend, that’ll take care of most of it. The list would be a lot easier if I hadn’t volunteered to do all of the stockings this year as well. I just hated that every year we’d get the same little Snickers and M&Ms and Hershey’s kisses. Yeah, they’re good and all, but you can eat them any ol’ time; they may have a sparkly red wrapper at Christmas, but it’s the same candy. And not everybody liked the same things—I would give away all my stupid Crunch bells and M&Ms because I hated them, and that was just less candy for me. I wanted it to be more personal. So I made a list of everything I know each individual person likes, and their stockings will be tailor-made to them specifically. I’m even trying to avoid mainstream candy manufacturers, and get some nuts and fruit in there somehow. I dunno, I’ll work it out. But man—personalized stockings for nine people is exhausting. I want my nap again.


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