This is the week, the one that happens every December, the one that I always tell myself that I’ll do differently next year but I never do.
It’s the week before Christmas, which always seems to be busier than the week of Christmas. Parties, people, events, high heels, big hair, sugar, wine, beer, money that slips away like a hand full of water. It’s the most fun, most crazy-making week.
I haven’t worked out since Sunday, which makes me feel completely deranged. There is a pile of clothes, shoes, coats, and bras on my bed, and I just keep pushing it over to climb under the covers at night. I haven’t been getting enough sleep. I’ve eaten cookies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. My toenail polish is chipped. I haven’t responded to emails and texts and phone calls (I probably owe you one – I’m so sorry). My level of busyness is making me a gigantically cranky stress ball.
Tonight is our company holiday party, and last night, I pulled out the dress I was planning on wearing. It’s wrinkled and dirty from last year. Why do I never learn to have the dress dry-cleaned at the end of the season so it’s fresh the next year? Now I’m going to look like a hobo.
So yes. If you see a cranky, deranged woman in a stained satin dress wandering the streets of downtown Nashville tonight, hobbling in her high heels because of her broken toe and carrying her lipstick in a bindle instead of a purse, that’s me.
Or it’s Mindy McCready.
It’s either Mindy McCready or me.