Scrooge December 13, 2012Posted by indigobunting in Uncategorized.
December, lately, is becoming my least favorite month of the year.
I think I used to sort of like the holidays, even though there was always a lot to do. I have a vague memory of this.
But lately I’ve been angry at the end-of-year convergence of major life/paperwork decisions (taxes, health insurance, flexible spending plans) that need to be decided upon right away with all holiday preparations (gifts, baking, travel plans). Add to that certain health-care providers who, at this late date, can’t tell me whether they will be in network or out of network in 2013. (Hey, December: holidays or end-of-year stuff. Choose one. I can’t do both.)
Add to that the realization that I’ve made less money in 2012 than I’ve made in years. Add to that that try as I might to begin work with my alleged new client—even signing a contract on a particular job—things keep going awry. Add to that the major car repairs I’m having done today and the oil company insisting that suddenly, after a dozen years of delivering oil here, the vent and fill pipes are undersized and if I don’t get them fixed to the tune of hundreds of dollars they will probably stop delivering oil I’ve already paid for, thank you very much. Add to that my wish that I could stay home for Christmas, even though once I’m out traveling and visiting family, it’s basically fine (except, of course, for all the time in the car, the lack of exercise, the excess of sugar, and the things that make me crazy about particular people).
I am really cranky.
Did I mention my rotator cuff is killing me?
I try to think happy thoughts. I think about Bridgett’s Advent. I think about Mali’s summer, how soon it will be the longest day of the year for her, how warm the breezes must be now. I think about Laurie’s childhood.
I think about popping a couple of Aleve.