Project 365 go down the tubes and it's time for me to speak firmly to myself about it. I mean, for chrissakes, there's only 21 days left in the year: how hard can it be for me to finish it out? Apparently pretty hard - I'm even resorting to cheating, whereby this terrible picture of my so far very lame start at decorating for the holidays was actually taken Saturday night, not Sunday, but I'm counting it as Sunday's picture. Otherwise, I'd have to admit that I spent Sunday in bed with the worst hangover I've had in ages and ages.
It turns out that if you've been sick with a terrible cold for 5 days and then you get lonely and miserable and bored and fed up and decide to get your friend J to come over and drink a bunch of vodka mixed with spicy V8 juice on the theory that spicy V8 juice is good for colds and vodka is good for your (Russian, angst-filled) soul and you simultaneously, while coming up with this feat of reasoning, manage to forget that due to the cold you basically haven't eaten anything except half a peanut butter sandwich for like 48 hours, well, you will pay, my friend. Pay. Big time. Turns out that a bad enough hangover can make you forget your cold for a while, though - but I do not recommend this method of cold forgetting. Anyway, the day after the hangover the cold is right back here with me. It's just one of those lose/lose situations that you would think I would have figured out by now.
So I'm hopelessly behind on all my holiday shopping and decorating and knitting and projects and cards and, yeah, pretty much all things holiday, not to mention those nagging day to day details like cleaning the house and paying the bills. Yet somehow, I have finally achieved pure zen detachment and I don't give a flying fuck. I'm going to Charleston next weekend, y'all, and that's enough to make me happy and you know what? We'll all muddle through Christmas somehow or other even if we never even get around to putting up a tree. Christmas, like shit, happens, and I think it's all okay.