The apartment is a mess, the tree sits dead and (for fear of fire) dark in the living room, absorbing the light that comes in through the windows, assorted fantastic presents litter the carpet, my suitcase lounges in unpacked waste on my bedroom floor, dishes pile the counters and sink for the first time in two months, and the cat keeps losing his milk jug ring in the tree. And with an aching sinus from what appears to be an allergy-induced cold, I don't feel like cleaning any of it.
I can't decide if I want to spend New Year's Eve alone or not. I have a couple of options, but I'm tired and don't feel up to driving the distances I'd have to drive to elect them. Besides, I'm tired of spending holidays away from Simon. I kind of want to knit on the couch, drink a champagne toast to Janus, pet the cat, and go to bed.
Christmas was different this year. It turned out well -- the visit with my parents prior to Christmas, and with my sister and her fiance at Christmas, went wonderfully. It was good to see them. But whether the shock of my experience with the sacred dulled my appreciation of the warm fuzzies that come with the commercial and secular of the season, or whether the travel exhausted me, or whether the change in tradition (not celebrating as a nuclear family) threw me, or whether spending so much time in the constant company of others wore me out, or whether being ill for most of the month of December drained me, Christmas felt weird. Like a good visit, like a pleasant mini-break, but not like Christmas.
Oh well. I'm glad to see the centrifuge of 2006 come to a close. I'm sure 2007 will come with its share of change, but hopefully it will be more pleasant.
Happy New Year, folks! I'm going to go hold a hot cup of coffee against the left side of my face to try to break up the congestion there.
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