5 days after Christmas. If I have to do any of the following before next year (though next Spring would be too soon) I may disappear into the woods behind the house and build myself a crude hut out of all that firewood we can’t burn because we don’t have a fireplace, people! and stop showering and shaving.
- Go to the grocery store. Again. (Seriously, 6 days in a row.)
- Put out any more money. Because the Bank. Is Empty.
- Even look at my Kitchen Aid mixer.
- Drive. ANYWHERE.
- Pick up stray dog food particles, which multiplies like fleas.
- Bake. ANYTHING.
- Answer the phone. Really, it’s never for me anyway. Unless it's the pharmacy. Or Publishers Clearing House.
- Answer the front door. Because last night, during family celebration #3, a very nice man from a solar energy company surprised us on our scheduled appointment Todd made last week that neither of us remembered.
- Do one more load of laundry. Where DOES all this clothing come from? Has no one else ever heard of wearing the same pair of pants until they’re actually dirty?
- Try to squeeze myself into clothing that no longer fits. (No further explanation needed.)
Even the kids are toast. It’s 1:52 p.m. and neither one of them has left their room for more than 5 minutes, and only then to make like mice and sneak into the kitchen to steal food. The cat is under the Christmas tree. Pi is in her bed – thankfully no longer sick with the doggie version of the stomach bug, but still on antibiotics for a lesion she won’t stop biting at. Sabra – the neurotic brown poodle – is pacing around periodically, staring me down, probably confused by the lack of people and commotion in the house. She’s adding to my anxiety, and I’m off my meds again because I can’t be expected to remember to request a refill before the holidays. At least she’s stopped doing the deep, rapid swallowing thing that makes me want to throw her outside FAST.
There is much to do, and I don’t wanna do it. The restaurant needs New Year’s Eve desserts that no one bothered to determine until TODAY. Because I am really just sitting on my ass perusing Facebook and eating those Godiva truffles my parents gave me last night. Right. I did vacuum, because there was unidentifiable debris throughout the house that I got tired of stepping on with bare feet. But soon enough Pi will come out for a nibble and will likely develop that cough that will spray food all over the tile. (This is a favorite of hers – guaranteed to have me curled up in a corner sucking my thumb before the day is done.) And if that doesn’t do it, the toilet in the kids’ bathroom will have me swinging from the ceiling fan singing Let It Go, because you really didn’t think I’d get through the holidays without a plunger, did you?
Have a drink, you say? I’ve BEEN drinking. There hasn’t been a single day without alcohol since Thursday the 18th, and I think I’ve finally hit the summit of my tolerance. I just threw what was likely the 12th magnum of Malbec into the recycling bin and I’m glad. There’s no shame in this. And that bottle won’t be lonely in the company of Luksusowa and a bottle of champagne stepmom and I polished off last night.
I have to work tomorrow night. In 26 years, I’ve had off no more than 3 or 4 New Year’s Eves. Don’t be sad. I’d really rather be working, than be the drunk lady with the balloons tied to her ears screeching out Auld Lang Syne. It’s far more entertaining to watch the action – especially from the safety behind the bar, where they can ask but they can’t touch – and more fodder for this amateur writer. (Of course, given the choice of mixing close to a thousand cocktails in a 4-hour window or chilling on the couch at home alone with Todd – I’d still pick Todd and the couch.)
So, my detox starts today. No more wine. No more vodka. No more 100-year-old Grand Marnier (which could be gone inside of a week if I keep going at the present pace). No more homemade mac and cheese, or challah French toast, or Christmas cookies, or cheese and jalapeno covered nachos, or peppermint bark. No more heartburn (damn you, middle age!). No pet vomit to clean up (though Sabra did an excellent job of cleaning up the cat’s 2 nights ago). No more wrapping paper (really – I found a piece behind the couch today from Christmas morning). And the next kid who complains about the toilet is getting handed a plunger.
No more. I’m done.