I don’t have have a damn thing to do.
Well, in the sense that I’m leaving in about 30 hours-ish at UNGODLY o’clock in the morning for 4 days of having to be all semi-professional-like and stuff, and not only have I not packed, but I also haven’t, hear me now ladies … I also haven’t tried on any of my clothes. GASP. Wait a minute. I think that deserves a DOUBLE GASP.
Work is insane. The trip will be taking my boss and I pretty much out of the general daily loop for the vast majority of the business hours for the better part of 4 days. I work in a business that runs 36 hours a day, 8 days a week, 403 days a year. Suffice to say that both of us being nearly unavailable for those hours is a big deal, made slightly bigger by the fact that we’ve had a major company overhaul in the last few weeks (suddenly required, certainly not something we could have seen coming) which, in the long run, will be a wonderful, beautiful, fantabulous thing. In the short run, it means we’re leaving a bunch of people in charge who have been working their jobs for about 3 weeks now. Teh Awesome. If we didn’t have faith in them, we wouldn’t have picked them for the jobs, but that isn’t the point. The point is that they are freaking out. The point is that we’ve worked, um, a billion hours in the 3 weeks to train them all. The point is, well, okay – you get the point.
We decided to go ahead and get freakin’ festive this weekend, even though we’re not going to be here to enjoy our home’s general festivistation (shut up – my blog, my word). We do have The Boy, after all, and what is Christmas for a kid without some stuff out? So, okay, we got some stuff out. In getting said stuff out, we realized that last year’s packing tape around the open seams of the Christmas tape tree *box didn’t hold. In fact, on the ends, the tape was basically simply standing straight out, like we’d never stuck it down at all. Therefore, it was officially time to de-tape the Christmas tape tree box. Now, we’ve had this particular tree since we got together; it’s our very first tree ever, which makes it 13 years old, so I’m here to tell you: That’s a looooot of tape. Surprisingly, though, there was a still a box left under there. (* I’m allergic to pine and my husband has an aversion to attempting to sleep next to a seriously itchy person, so there’s absolutely no need to even start in on the whole real vs. artificial thing)
When we were at the folks’ over Thanksgiving, we saw pictures of our lovely tree from that very first year –and damn was I skinny 13 years ago – sorry, but it had to be said — and let’s just say that where there is a whole lot more of me now, there is a whole lot less of the tree now, mkay? It doesn’t look scraggly or anything, which is frankly not just amazing but actually incredulous because, seriously, this thing sheds more than the dog at this point. When I vacuumed after merely putting the thing up — not even doing the lights or ornaments, I’m pretty sure I heard the vacuum cry. There are no less than 5 or 6 branches that are held on by 3/8″ screws and nuts to replace the little plastic peg things that have snapped over the last few years. When an entire row of branches at the base of the topper section was found unattached to their homes because of a giant crack in some plastic, TB had to take it down to the basement and slather on some J-B Weld (basically the King of epoxies: Don’t Scrap It! J-B Weld It!). Honestly, our tree should be on Medicare at this point. But when TB said, “I think we need a new tree,” I winced at the thought of all the other stuff we’re paying for/about to be paying for right now and said, “Ya know what? For the $100 it would cost us and 13 days we’re going to see the thing this year, I think we can make it.” And so it was that the screws and epoxy came out. The truth is that it has been SUCH a good tree that I honestly hate to see it go and try to replace it, and you can hardly beat the $6.50/year that it has cost us. Not including screws and epoxy.
Tomorrow, I shall set out to frantically try stuff on, possibly run out to buy something in a fit of insanity, and whine like a giant baby about how I have nothing to wear, hate being the size of a large farm animal, and would really just rather stay home. And then I’ll pack in a similar but entirely different episode of insanity. And with any luck, I might get an hour or two or sleep before UNGODLY o’clock a.m. comes.
Maybe my family isn’t going to miss me as much as they think they will.