The twenty-first of the month.
I’m getting better about the twenty-firsts of months. (See long-lost entry May 21, 2001 for a small explanation.) I realized that I actually missed the twenty-first of October and November, which I think is the first time since 1997 that I got past a twenty-first without noting it. I don’t know if this is a good thing, or if an important and hard-learned lesson is slipping away from me.
Pre-Christmas at the Sisters went well enough, I think. It did not help when The Professor called Disneyland the Realm of Capitalistic Oppressors over dinner, but I think Sister the Younger was feigning most of her indignation.
I got the sloppy joes made for the office party (which starts in less than an hours’ time) last night, packed about half of what I need, along with all the Christmas presents we’re taking out, printed out cat care directions, got bills paid and a note written to the apartment management alerting them to our absence (and the sisters’ intermittent appearances to tend the cats), got the turtle tank prepped and got myself to bed around midnight-thirty.
Still need to finish packing, get the turtle’s feedings together, finish cleaning up my hotmail account so that I don’t start getting email deleted when it exceeds its maximum size, gas the car, get to the bank, and other stuff I haven’t remembered or thought of yet.
Bingle Jells.
The cats are finally sorted out to their various dooms. Kitten from Hell gets the master bedroom, because it is easiest to kitten proof. Clueless Wonder gets the spare bedroom (mostly because he drew the short straw). The Warrior Princess gets the rest of the apartment. I feel badly for CW, who gets short shrift mostly because he’s the good kitty who will put up with the spare bedroom without tearing anything apart. I’m not sure how, but I’ll make it up to him somehow.
I am at loose ends. I need to get away from this job, these problems, this place for a bit. I dread going to California, where I know the endless rounds of visiting and present giving and meals with relative strangers (that phrase takes on new meaning!) will bring on its own stresses. But it has to be better than staying here over Christmas.
In a not entirely unrelated incident, the ex in his innocence managed to piss me off me last night. He sent out Christmas cards this year, and I found mine in the mail box when we got home. For two decades, I lost entire evenings writing holiday cards to his relatives, his friends, his business contacts. He couldn’t be bothered. Said he didn’t see the point. Chided me when the chore made me grumpy because I had no help. And NOW he sends out his own Christmas cards and proudly tells me inside that he’s actually sending them out this year. I guess he sees the point now.
I’ve stopped by a few diaries to give people my regards and wish them happy holidays. If I didn’t get by yours, it was only because I’ve run out of time. I do wish the best for everyone, though, and look forward to seeing you all next year. May everyone have much happiness this season.