I am so tired. So physically exhausted that writing a blog post is one of the last things I should be doing, ahead of operating large machinery or performing a root canal on an unsuspecting cat.* * I'm staying in an apartment with a resident feline and said feline is currently hiding under the bed. She's usually rather fond of me, so she must have sensed that I was typing phrases like "root canal" in conjunction with "unsuspecting cat."
Driving from LA to San Francisco in the middle of a busy work week would make anyone tired. Even if their brother took the wheel after 20 minutes and wouldn't relinquish it for the next six hours because the original driver maaaay have gotten us lost in the middle of LA after getting yelled at by a cop.**
** We both tried to occupy the same space at the same time. I had the green light. He did not. There were no sirens or flashing red and blue. So unless I've completely rewritten this event in the depths of my admittedly imaginative subconscious, I'm pretty sure I had the right of way.
So, yeah. Tired. But that good kind of tired, the one where climbing between clean sheets and relaxing bonelessly into a nice mattress is the most delicious feeling you could ever have.
But I told myself I was going to write blog posts on Tuesdays and Thursdays and by gum, that's what I'm going to do. 2011: The year of doing the things I say I'll do. Because doing the things you say you'll do keeps your soul from perishing, piece by melodramatic piece. Emerging from 2011 with your soul intact = win.
I'm spending Christmas in San Jose with my family, but bookending Family Time with Friend Time in San Francisco. Lots of friends, lots of cheese, lots of parties, lots of all the things I love and have been missing in LA. I get lonely there, which is not surprising, given that I had ten years to build friends here and have had three months to build friendships in LA, with most of those months spent working and then sleeping in preparation to do more work.
Therefore. Loneliness = understandable and expected and even desired (see: all the working). But it's nice not to be lonely for a week and a half.
Good grief, this was supposed to be a cheery Christmas post. HERE, LET ME DOUSE YOUR YULE LOG WITH MY SALTY TEARS. While I work up to saying "Hey, I'm happy!" in the most depressing way possible. Hi, bourbon. You make me maudlin. I knew there was a reason I've been avoiding your calls and texts and slightly desperate emails. Even when those emails are sent from the depths of homemade eggnog as you spike it in quantities generous enough to fell a mid-size rhinoceros.
Anyway.
I am tired but happy. All my presents are purchased, if not wrapped. My work is not yet done, but it will be. Three friends today (plus one wary cat), three friends tomorrow, all the family, all of the evergreen. None of the bourbon.
In conclusion, here is a big ass picture of my little ass tree. It wishes you a merry Christmas. Or whatever holiday you happen to celebrate. (Hi, Jewish people! Hi, Muslims! Hi, pagans! The tree loves you too!)
May your weekend be merry and bright and full of all the things you love.