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Mistletoe and missing snow.

Good morning, world! I am in a chipper mood, as I have my very favorite breakfast of peppered beef jerky and a Frappucino. It lets me get my carniverous urges out of the way early - yesterday I had fruit for breakfast, and ended up getting a slice of pizza for lunch that was piled high with pepperoni, ham, sausage, and bacon because I needed it. Like, primally. Then last night I had a dinner that consisted mostly of broccoli. I really like broccoli. I sort of wish I'd brought a bowl of it for lunch. Rats.

Lately I've been doing rewrites of a bunch of older X10 pages, dusting them off, polishing them up, adding a few hundred words here and there and riddling them with bullets. We're transitioning towards a style that I'm definitely liking, although it's sometimes a bit of a challenge to write in. But hey, I love a challenge! I've gotten to learn about a few interesting products too, like the Personal Assistance Voice Dialer, which is great for older relatives who can't get around too well anymore. And it's nice to have just in case, too - whatever makes you feel safer, you know?

It's six days until Christmas and I've done so very, very little shopping so far. I'm trying not to think about it. My previous Christmases have been so rushed and frantic, at least the lead-up, studying for finals, writing essays, packing for home, last minute shopping (tiny Chinese markets where I'd grab piles of trinkets for friends, bright keychain coinpurses, sheets of foil stickers, tiny watercolor sets, handmade cards, all covered in Post-It Notes and nested like Russian dolls in layers of packaging - gift bags littered with stars, cheap plastic purses, striped pencil cases, glossy makeup bags), books of stamps and trips to the post office to send out cards to other countries, Australia and England and Poland and Denmark. I miss sitting at my desk, listening to Death Cab For Cutie, surrounded by paper stock and cut out hearts and snowflakes, massacred Urban Outfitters catalogs, glue sticks and glitter.

It seemed like my time was worth so much more when it was clearly delineated and crunched down, mapped out, scheduled. Go to work and wrangle second graders, go to class and think and learn, stop off at home, maybe, or meeting with people straight on - trips uptown or dinners out or dining halls with roommates. Time existed as a tangible thing, something that passed, full of meaningful dates and occasions - now six days until Christmas is just six days, three more days of work, the weekend. It'll be nice to see my grandparents, since they're coming up, and I'm going to Portland on Friday night to meet up with some friends. Work, holiday, back to work. At least I make the off time count as best I can.

Tracing the plot finds skin touching skin, absence follows - I used to mourn not sharing a town with Ben Gibbard - it's weird when words and the people that speak them no longer mean as much to you as they once did. It's already begun to look a lot like Christmas, I think I just completely failed to notice.


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