I suppose I should be pleased; I’ve lasted until a week before Christmas (look at that, a perfect week) before feeling like I’d rather sleep forever than get out of bed each morning.
Sleep forever is half-euphemism, half-not.
By which I mean, half of me wants to just stay in bed when I wake up… and the other half of me wants to sever my femoral artery with a broken shard of Christmas tree bauble.
Isn’t that a jolly holiday image? Now you know what it’s like inside my head.
I have self-upped my medication, but there’s only so much upping possible, for obvious reasons. Of course, once the kids go to their dad’s (Saturday for an overnight stay; then back for 2 nights, then Tuesday – Saturday at their dad’s again) I can self-medicate with alcohol. As we’re actually pretty booked up with friends over this holiday period, this could result in some of my mates seeing me absolutely shit-faced, weeping into my Christmas turkey, and/or refusing to do Christmas at all.
Whatever. I got the tree up, I got presents wrapped and under it, and I’m holding it together in front of my kids. What more do you people want?
I know what I want. I want to see my family and friends–all of them–for fucking Christmas.