I gave in and dragged the tree out thinking it might get me into the holiday spirit. Our living room is about 10x12 and has a 1) couch, 2) bar (hello, of course), 3) official dog chair, 4) two dog crates, 5) coffee table, and 6) an ottoman. I figured a 7' tall fake Festivus tree made of recycled petrochemical products would fit perfectly. Nothing else will fit
now, and anyone who comes over has to shuffle into the house past the yard sale in the living room, but we've got a damn tree. It's one of those "pre-lit" trees that all you allegedly have to do is assemble and plug in. What they don't say is that it is filled with 1,004,318 tiny plastic clips, also known as "choking hazard," that randomly fall off whilst fluffing (not dirty) the branches (still not dirty). It took me an hour to fluff the tree (git yo mind outta the gutter) and all the while I'd hear tiny 'click', 'click', 'click' as another clip hit the floor. I'm not sure what they are made for except to mimic a real pine needles.
In addition to the falling choking hazard, there was an entire section of lights that wasn't working. Despite being a candidate for a master of
science, I have little or no scientific ability, especially anything that has to do with electrical engineering. My ingenious method entailed fidgeting with the darkened bulbs whilst cursing. It seemed to work because the lights work again. Yay me!
I did all this by myself. The Mr. was at work and had yet to contact me at 6:30 p.m. to explain if he was in a) a car accident, b) jail, c) tethered to his desk, or 4) never coming back. I had just found out that I didn't win a much needed scholarship and was tired, cranky and needed to finish 4 projects for my actual "work" before I could go to bed so I could be at work at 8 a.m. the next day for my new part time job.
So a I was a wee bit pissy when he got home. Especially when he wanted me to drop what I was doing to make dinner. This happens a lot. When he's home, he's all "not at work" so he wants attention. It's very hard for him to understand that I am actually working. However, he will do his share of guilt tripping when it's time to pay bills and I want to buy a new pair of jeans (or a suit or whatever). I've lost about 15 lbs in the past year and none of my clothes fit any longer. It's getting harder and harder to maintain a "professional" appearance when I have to hoist my pants up mid-presentation. But I don't need the guilt trip. The sighing. The rolling of eyes. The slouching shoulders. I don't need it. I don't want it when he won't take my working after 5:00 p.m. seriously. Or when I work on, gasp!, Saturday or Sunday when there's not a football game. Of course. I could host a strippers convention in the living room during the Broncos game and he would yell at us to be quiet so he could hear the commentators.
As you know, I've self-diagnosed myself at OCD and bi-polar. It's much more fun that way. Recently I've self-diagnosed myself as mildly depressed. Maybe it's the time of year. Maybe it's the strain of doing it all in a business. Maybe it's the realization that I've failed by having to take a part time job. Maybe it's the realization that I'm relieved that I did get the part time job so I can start earning regular pay again. Maybe it's knowing that the way to be happy might just hurt someone else. Maybe I need to man up and deal with all this shit that's going on in my world.
That's as far as my holiday spirit goes. I've got a naked pre-lit fake tree in my living room. It's a wonderful analogy for everything else going on right now. Half done. Undone. Unsaid. Unhappy.
