Narcolepsy.

I should warn you, I.go.to.sleep.

Fuck, am I tired.

Christmas is generally too emotionally and financially draining for the majority of most humans. If those two factors aren't gonna get yah, the physical drain of your body and soul usually puts you over the top. Factoring all three into your existence during that stupidly busy week before wee baby J's birthday is, I think, the reason why 50% of Wal*Mart workers consider suicide as a plausible and acceptable option.

I'm very sentimental about Christmas. I don't like that. I want to be someone who isn't commercially involved so I can spend Christmas alone, or with selected company, without the presents and all the relative bullshit. But I of course, cannot do that.
I like buying people presents. Or creating presents. Or getting the idea in my head that I can make six stained glass lamp shades in the matter of a month for people that don't deserve stained glass lamp shades.
Somehow, there's a small part of my brain that is still registering the fact that I receive presents in return as a good thing. It's not. I get so much fattening crap and so much shit that I have to reorganize all my belongings every year to introduce my new belongings to their new homes. I currently have six tubes of unopened mascara, from the last six years, sitting downstairs in a cardboard box because I never wear makeup. It's all shit, really.
But I got some useful stuff this year. Both my mother and father gave me a set of the stonewear dishes that I wanted so desperately. I now have service for eight guests. Now I just need to find a dinner table to set them on. I also got a box of quilting supplies, some rulers, good scissors, fat squares, a shitload of needles and even a thimble. This is wonderful to me really. Now all I need is a sewing machine.
Chelsea got me the Ben Folds live in Australia with WASO. Some of the arrangements are completely fucked up, but in a good way. She also got me thirteen Ben Folds buttons, some coasters and a really rad seashell necklace. Yes, that's right. I'm the little mermaid.
Cookbooks, some mugs, salt and pepper shakers... it's all piled in the corner of my room, waiting to be put away lovingly. I think it will probably sit in that corner for quite some time.

Now, three days after Christmas, I'm so tired that I can barely move. My eyes are considerably heavy and my heart is beating rapidly due to being overworked and deprived of a rest. Ah bed, how I love thee.

I have two hours to get some shut eye and then, I'm back up again, off to see my old roommate. I'm hoping to have some excellent laughs. Ones of course, that are not induced by fumes.