I Don’t Wanna Up My Word Count, I said "No, Wri, Mo."

Or, if you prefer Stevie, My Eyes Don't Wri No Mo.

The chaos is over; NaNoWriMo is on its final gasping breaths. The novel, however is far from over; I estimate another 30,000 words or so before I can even start rewrites. Do I keep going, or take a Christmas break?

I’ll have to break for at least the weekend to spare the carpal tunnel developing in my right arm. And to get the sundry holiday tasks over with, like shopping and baking and multi-scarf-making. Oy, the wrist is going to be so unhappy; maybe I can crochet backwards…?

I have just sent out Christmas cards to eight different states. Thank you for being my friends, friends.*

It’s the last day of November, and the department has just busted out the cubicle wreaths (I’m thinking of adding a little plastic moose onto Dawn’s for you, CD, in absentia). It sure didn’t take long to kick Autumn out the door; the last two days I’ve seen five different Christmas specials on primetime TV, and it is not yet December. Remember when you were a kid, how they kept adding days to the school year every grade, like four at a time, until you only had like a month and a half off per year by the time you graduated? It’s kinda like that, only colder and you have to drive yourself.

I’m more a fan of the harvest wreaths, the brown ones made from dead branches or straw, with berries and fruit on, than the Christmas flavor (the ripping arms off trees while they’re still green makes me a little sad), but the huge boon of the coming holiday, of course, is the loss of those atrocious little wooden turkeys people tend to stick on their porches and on the back of the toilet. The ones with their big eyes and eagerness to be devoured… creepy little reminders of the brevity of life with painted-on Americana stitching; it’s like Twilight Zone episode wrapped in a four-inch tchotchke.

[Note: I hate the whole cartoon turkey motif, except when the turkey is holding the little popgun in addition to the hat. Then I imagine that the turkey has stolen the hat from the pilgrims, as either a joke or solemn right of passage in his turkey flock (depending on my mood). Even better when the turkey is wearing the buckle shoes and has the musket, because then it looks like the turkey shot the pilgrim and is wearing the spoils of war—that under the goofy cartoon grin he’s a second away from raising a Turkey Power fist in poultrine solidarity.** Sadly, the empowered turkey is lost in so many grade schools nationwide, either re-imagined as a hapless animated buffoon, or as a scapegoat to mitigate the hideousness of American Thanksgiving history (what genocide? wing or breast?). At any rate, we’re well rid of them; peeping out of a straw wreath with that earnest little face, those wooden turkeys are scary as hell.]

Although I’ll admit, I love Christmas decorations—especially making them. The granting of cubicle holiday freedom has me spending tip money on little frosty glittered pinecones from Michael’s every damn year. I can’t not buy fake birds and silk poinsettias and demand to hear the Charlie Brown Christmas Album while dancing madly in striped Santa socks. I lose many friends this time of year. Friends who are plainly jealous of my spot-on Snoopy dance, but friends nonetheless.

* I realize you deserve more than this tiny sentence. Imagine a tiny Mariachi band playing just for you. Now imagine them naked, with reindeer puppets on their wangs. Theere ya go.
** I’m a not vegetarian, but our morals do align pretty regularly, and turkeys are just generally awesome.


crdrue said…
Plastic moose sounds appropriate. Here we string xmas lights on palm trees. You should send me some drafts of what you're working on these days!
Sarah Beedoo said…
Awww, the love. I'll send some shorts along in January--the novel's too big. YOU should send me an address, lest you lose out on a boss Christmas card.

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