you can't leave, and you can't quit.

Those are not options.

Delicious irony:  when you only wake up to the knowledge that you're capable of doing anything, *anything* you put your mind to, the very moment you've been granted zero minutes to devote to those mindful things.  The very moment the baby is placed on your chest, you realize your capacity for everything, anything under, around, behind, beside the sun, the son, and, simultaneously, your opportunity for time for those things, the ones you dreamed languid-yet-passionate dreams of in liquid-lit days and nights, is *zap* gone.

(Delicious in this scenario = a deep resonance with the flavor of metal, of strange tastes and odors, like dry mustard and wheat chaff.)

p.s. Pink eye?  No.  More like stink-eye. 

p.p.s. Daycare is my succor.  I am a wretch without it.  How did I ever manage (questions she who has been tasked with watching her son during the final shipping week before Christmas, the woman who runs an online boutique, because his being an invalid due to pink-eye has denied him access to daycare until it has run its course, but not before the final shipping week before Christmas has ended) prior to placing our son in its warm, part-time embrace?

p.p.s. Because nothing has gotten done this week, all the way from the very important to the fairly mundane, Christmas is going to be a slaughter.  I feel it grumbling in my bones, the slaughter-iness of it all, and the worst is that I've managed to put together absolutely nothing, not cards, nothing, for loved ones, not for the wonderful family we're about to spend time with, not for the wonderful family we will not be able to see until January (so at least I've got a few weeks to do something for them), not even for my dad, my own dad, who devotes so much time and energy and love to my son. 

Blowy-blowy-blow.  Blow me down a river that I could sink away beneath (my minor tribute to Joni M today, coupled with Sylvia P and Virginia W.  But not the Virginia who wondered about Santa's existence.  Not her.

Screw her.  Screw her and pass me another Grinchtini.)

Comments

[AB]

Oh, Deb! One of the aspects of my life that bothers me most is when I stop to think about all of the things and people upon which I've grown completely dependent. I like to do things myself and I'm now horrified at the number of tasks I cannot do unless I have a driving teenager, an understanding husband...when once I lived a life with more autonomy. Wished I lived closer so I could help.

[LawyerMama]

Can I have one of those Grinchtinis?

[nonlineargirl]

Note to self: scratch plan to call Debbie in the next couple of days. Good luck getting through the next week. When we get back from family festivities I will call for playing, yes? Or even better, estate sale?

[Suebob]

No one cares about the presents unless they are dopes. They want to see you. Happy you. Relaxed you. Funny you. Just be as much of yourself as you can and the rest will be forgotten.

[jaelithe]

That totally sucks.

I don't suppose Caleb could take a sick day one day so you could get your work stuff done? Or could else someone come over and watch the boy, even for a couple of hours?

I would so totally do that, if it wouldn't require a four hour flight.

[jaelithe]

P.S. On the way to the relatives' house, you could stop at a candy store and just buy everyone pounds of candy. Everyone likes pounds of candy, right?

[anne nahm]

Yick. I guess there is not much to do but bust out the snuggly pajamas and movies. Hope everyone feels better soon.

[kittenpie]

I so didn't want to do cards and such this year, and focussed too much on shopping - oh, no. I overspent. Not good. Compensating for lack of spirit, most likely. Or lack of focus, maybe.