I'm going to be insufferable for the next month. Sorry.
By my personal standards of holiday division, we have now officially passed from Thanksgiving to Christmas. This means it's time to dig my jingle socks out of the drawer, deck the halls to the best of my ability, and hum carols under my breath ad irritatum. It also means I should probably cut my NaNo characters a break and let them do something heart-warming (and verbose!) instead of getting them caught in a typhoon. Time to row the boat ashore and have some quality time.
This also means it's time to track down cartoon Christmas specials on eMule and comb through my collection of holiday MP3s to insure that no boy-band covers have sneaked in. Presents should probably be purchased at some point. Say, in December. Any year I don't end up at Walmart on Christmas Eve is a good year for me.
I really do love Christmas, guys. I love it despite the rampant commercialization and the schmoopiness, and I like to gather all the other winter holidays into a great big love embrace so that nobody feels left out. I love the sweaters and the food and the enormous goodwill that swells in my bosom like a sparkly holiday alien. If nothing else, I am secure in the knowledge that Seasonal Affective Disorder has no hold on me. Er, at least not a negative hold. It's more of a metaphorical hug that spurs me to make charitable donations and beam at people to the point of being unnerving.
And on that note, let's get ready to wassail.
This also means it's time to track down cartoon Christmas specials on eMule and comb through my collection of holiday MP3s to insure that no boy-band covers have sneaked in. Presents should probably be purchased at some point. Say, in December. Any year I don't end up at Walmart on Christmas Eve is a good year for me.
I really do love Christmas, guys. I love it despite the rampant commercialization and the schmoopiness, and I like to gather all the other winter holidays into a great big love embrace so that nobody feels left out. I love the sweaters and the food and the enormous goodwill that swells in my bosom like a sparkly holiday alien. If nothing else, I am secure in the knowledge that Seasonal Affective Disorder has no hold on me. Er, at least not a negative hold. It's more of a metaphorical hug that spurs me to make charitable donations and beam at people to the point of being unnerving.
And on that note, let's get ready to wassail.