Just Call Me Scrooge

I'm a nice person. I like Christmas. The gift-giving. The food. The parties. I love all of the pretty decorations and lights. I really do.

But almost nothing pisses me off more than decorating my own house. Every year I absolutely dread it. And every year I try to talk myself out of being pissed off about it. And every year I end up furious and in desperate need of alcohol.

I don't know what it is. It's so irrational. With every faux-pine garland I hang and every light I plug in, my grumbling gets louder (and more foul-mouthed) and my facial expressions gets scarier. Everyone in the house starts giving me wide berth whenever they pass by me and they try desperately to lay low.

Maybe it's because it takes two solid days to get it done. Maybe it's because I know I just have to turn around and take it all down again in three or four weeks. Maybe it's because I don't like to do anything halfway and I don't have the money, talent or time to do it the way I really want to do it. Maybe it's because Christmas stresses me out. Maybe it's just because I'm being bitchy.

It's all rather discouraging whatever it is.

But! It's done! I spent the last two days doing it - ALL day both days - and now it's done. And it does look pretty. I'm glad I did it. But I'm more glad it's done.

At least until the mother-%#*&$ first week of January anyway.