Christmas. New Year’s. The whole damn thing.
(I have to resist the urge to grab random strangers on the street, shake them by the shoulders, while gleefully yelling “WE MADE IT!!!!”)
The tree is down. There’s only a few boxes of chocolates lingering. Thanks to a late in the game bout of flu, there’s not even that many holiday pounds hanging around.
I go back to work tomorrow. And I’m happy about it.
I love Christmas, these days. It’s a good time. And it requires some suspension of disbelief. It’s an artificial state. Which is awesome and magical and tiring.
It was great. And I’m ready to move on.