Dear Christmas,
I’m not done with you yet. I listened to Christmas music on the way to work this morning. It is January 3. Last night while laying on the couch watching TV by the flicker of the Christmas tree that I can’t bring myself to take down and burning my Evergreen candle, I had that ahh-it’s-Christmastime-tingle in my stomach. And we’re talking on the eve of going back to work after an 11-day break. Usually I’d be laying there all smug and disgruntled that I have to put on something other than sweat pants and go back to work or even better just go to bed so I didn’t have to think about it at all. But there I was at midnight feeling more content than I think maybe ever despite having to get up in 6 hours to sit in a cubicle under the glow of halogen all day.
I’m not really sure what to make of it. I like it. It just seems a little weird. I think I’m supposed to be sick of tinsel and Bing Crosby. But I’m not. And despite my kids watching “Elf” 986 times in the last three days, I really want to go home and watch it again.
So, Christmas, if you could come back and hang out until … March. That would be real great.
Sincerely,
Lindsey
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