You know, of all the Christmases I have survived, this one is the sneakiest. It seems like every time I turn around, I remember something that needs to be done that I haven't done yet. Gifts to be made, wrapped and put together. Food to be baked, cooked, and laid out. A house to clean, sweep and scrub.
I feel like the whole month has slithered through my fingers like sand on the beach. I've done everything on time, so far, although I am in enough of a crunch now, that I am seriously asking if everyone is going to get their presents on the correct day. And if anything will be surrounded in happy wrapping paper and pretty ribbons.
I used to be different. I used to be finished shopping before Thanksgiving and I used to wrap everything the day I put up the tree. I used to get things done and know exactly when I had to have what. I have become a very unorganized shadow of myself. And I'm not sure why.
It's not just Christmas either, although this time of year tends to bring out the worst in my panicky self. It's every facet of my life. I lose more and I forget more than I ever have before. It could be my thyroid. It could be having two kids. It could be that my work-life balance is off somehow. Or it could be that I am just losing it.
The pessimist in me says I'm losing it. Losing my edge, my sharpness. I'll never get it back. I'll always be frantically trying to catch up, to remember everything, to find my stride. The realist says, "Get thee to an endocrinologist."
On the other hand, that would require me remembering a whole host of other things. Things like checking who's covered by the new insurance and getting recommendations and calling to make an appointment. And I just don't ever feel like I have the time for those things.
Right now, I find myself saying over and over and over, "I just need to make it through Christmas and then I'll figure this thing out." No matter what this thing is, I'm convinced that I can handle it pretty much on the 26th. I hope that Sunday doesn't disappoint me.