Right..so...*dusts hands off*
This is how I always get the day after Christmas. I am all gung-ho for the holidays long about the end of October, rarin' to go by Thanksgiving and totally, thoroughly, utterly OVER IT by December 26th. I have exercised massive restraint today in not flying at the Christmas tree like a spider monkey and tearing it limb from limb to pack it back in storage. Soren and Ree, y'see, were thinking that the 26th should be a second day of rest, to finish up the stuff we didn't get to on Christmas in the all important "naps and games and lounging about in our robes" category. So I'm doin' that instead, but I have put them on notice that tomorrow the de-holidation process will begin in earnest.
This is actually going to be part of my "wash that decade right out of my hair" cleansing and purification week. I have decided to follow the custom my Grandma Legan used to have about the New Years, wherein you must clean the whole house, clean out all closets, fold all clothes, finish up unfinished stuff and do everything you can to face the new year with a clean slate. Since the Awful Oughts were so gawd-awful, I figure a Herculean effort is called for and I want to go into 2010 without so much as a speck of Oughtie stink on me if I can possibly help it. I'ma shake the dust of Ought off my sandals and smack it in the ass with the door as it leaves.
I'ma push old father 2009 down on the front lawn as the reaper makes for him, and sit on his legs to make sure that skinny sumbeeyotch with the scythe actually gets the job done. Then I'ma cut off his head and his right hand and take out his heart and bury him face down at a crossroads with a stake through his heart. Then I'm gonna re-route a stream to pass over his gravesite so he's always beneath running water. I want to encase this decade's final resting place in cement, inside which I'll put a nuclear waste container. I want to invent universally understood pictographs to ensure that nobody ever, ever, ever opens that vault too. I want 2009 to be dubbed "the year we don't speak of" for all time, like that Egyptian pharaoh that everybody got so mad at that they went in after they'd killed him and hacked up any statue bearing his likeness and chiseled out any mention of his name ANYWHERE. That. I am that level of OVER IT about 2009.
2009 worked hard to get me to this level, and I'm going to enjoy the cathartic benefits of "ridding my world of the dust and detritus of '09 and all it's oughtie ilk" while I have the chance. And maybe this whole spectacle will sufficiently impress 2010 that the teens will proceed with due caution and behave themselves. I'm not normally an advocate of emotionally scarring a wide eyed, newborn baby year, but it does seem that after the last decade we could do worse than alpha rolling the new decade while it's still wobbly on it's legs and somewhat impressionable.
And naturally that'll be followed by loads of adoration and praise when 2010 shows me that it's a new, better, totally different sort of decade.
Tomorrow it begins in a hail of Christmas ornaments hitting the storage bins and with a fog of Pledge and Windex. I plan to go out to Target tomorrow (hopefully arriving after the last of the bargain monsters have given up) and invest heavily in "things what scrub the stink of failure off other things" and various and sundry cleansing powders, pastes and unguents. I'm just itching to start, which, considering how much I hate housework, is saying something. There's five days left after today to get it all ready...
*dons visor and pulls on big yaller dishwashing gloves*
MUAH HA HA HA!!
This is actually going to be part of my "wash that decade right out of my hair" cleansing and purification week. I have decided to follow the custom my Grandma Legan used to have about the New Years, wherein you must clean the whole house, clean out all closets, fold all clothes, finish up unfinished stuff and do everything you can to face the new year with a clean slate. Since the Awful Oughts were so gawd-awful, I figure a Herculean effort is called for and I want to go into 2010 without so much as a speck of Oughtie stink on me if I can possibly help it. I'ma shake the dust of Ought off my sandals and smack it in the ass with the door as it leaves.
I'ma push old father 2009 down on the front lawn as the reaper makes for him, and sit on his legs to make sure that skinny sumbeeyotch with the scythe actually gets the job done. Then I'ma cut off his head and his right hand and take out his heart and bury him face down at a crossroads with a stake through his heart. Then I'm gonna re-route a stream to pass over his gravesite so he's always beneath running water. I want to encase this decade's final resting place in cement, inside which I'll put a nuclear waste container. I want to invent universally understood pictographs to ensure that nobody ever, ever, ever opens that vault too. I want 2009 to be dubbed "the year we don't speak of" for all time, like that Egyptian pharaoh that everybody got so mad at that they went in after they'd killed him and hacked up any statue bearing his likeness and chiseled out any mention of his name ANYWHERE. That. I am that level of OVER IT about 2009.
2009 worked hard to get me to this level, and I'm going to enjoy the cathartic benefits of "ridding my world of the dust and detritus of '09 and all it's oughtie ilk" while I have the chance. And maybe this whole spectacle will sufficiently impress 2010 that the teens will proceed with due caution and behave themselves. I'm not normally an advocate of emotionally scarring a wide eyed, newborn baby year, but it does seem that after the last decade we could do worse than alpha rolling the new decade while it's still wobbly on it's legs and somewhat impressionable.
And naturally that'll be followed by loads of adoration and praise when 2010 shows me that it's a new, better, totally different sort of decade.
Tomorrow it begins in a hail of Christmas ornaments hitting the storage bins and with a fog of Pledge and Windex. I plan to go out to Target tomorrow (hopefully arriving after the last of the bargain monsters have given up) and invest heavily in "things what scrub the stink of failure off other things" and various and sundry cleansing powders, pastes and unguents. I'm just itching to start, which, considering how much I hate housework, is saying something. There's five days left after today to get it all ready...
*dons visor and pulls on big yaller dishwashing gloves*
MUAH HA HA HA!!