Has It Really Come To This?

I am writing an 8 page final paper (though clearly that is not, at least at this moment, entirely true true now is it?) that is due at 10:00 tomorrow morning, and that I started about 20 minutes ago. In and of itself, this is not so strange-- I don't know that I have ever finished a paper with more than a nights effort. What is strange is that midway through the paper, I realized 2 horrifying things:

1.) It is 10 days until Christmas, how in the fuck did that happen? And what in the fuck am I going to do with these 36 printed cards featuring one precious Morgan Athena looking over her shoulder in a red velor dress? I don't have stamps, and if I go into the post office tomorrow to buy some, they're all going to know I didn't send my cards out until just now.

And then everyone is going to be looking through their cards Christmas morning (because domestic families do that, right? I know smug newlyweds and new parents always do-- I've seen it firsthand) and think "Oh, not one from Nanda, I see (or Amanda, depending on what home the judgment is coming from). You know, her mother died and her father isn't around and she got dumped a couple of months ago and her daughter is in Colorado with that boy's family... you know, the one that (whisper) got her pregnant. No wonder the poor dear didn't send a card. She's allllll alone."

And then, they're going to call me while I'm, like, surfing pornhub and smoking in the house in a dirty wife beater having the time of my life and be all "We noticed you didn't send a card, and we'd really like you to come spend the holidays with us. Since you know... (more whispers) you're all alone."

And then, all of a sudden, I'm going to be sad that I'm all alone. And my Christmas, fine up until that point, will be ruined. And, I only have 10 days until all of this inevitably happens. If only there was something I could do to change it... oh, right. Stamps.

And, at the end of this entirely insane stream of consciousness, I without noticing it typed "Get fucking stamps" right in the middle of my paper. As I was deleting this, I was led to my next thought...

2) New Year's Eve is only a few days after Christmas, you know. So if my sprained ankle isn't healed by then, am I going to suffer through in heels for it even after it hurt so much at that party I went to last week? Or am I seriously going to go out for New Year's Eve without heels on? I can dance then, but I won't like to because I only wiggle right in real heels.

And then I have to stop again and think about my New Years Plans. They were (when I made a point to be child free on the parenting schedule ages ago) to do something, whatever it needed to be, with my best friend who after years of confusion I finally found a way to date with some success. When he left my house after movie night and disappeared a couple of months ago though (and I do mean disappeared, I didn't see him for over a month, just like that), I didn't make backup plans. I've entertained notions from utterly absurd to completely practical, but in the end the place I had just deleted the words "Get Fucking Stamps" was filled in again with the words "You're going to end up kissing your own hand for New years Eve Again". This is a true story mind you, I spent last NYE with a guy friend who was seriously looking for more and leaned in with his mouth slightly parted, so I pretended to kiss his cheek, kissed my own hand, and said "I love me!" as though it was totally adorable self absorption rather than totally sad disinterest in someone who cared about me a great deal.

And so, before anything else happened to my paper, I thought I had better, with only a few hours until bedtime, come blog for 20 minutes to purge these neurotic irrational typing turrets so I can get back to typing my paper-- yet another thing I have known all year was coming, and somehow managed to be completely shocked by when I found it actually upon me.

You know what would be really nice? If my nerves would make me accidentally interrupt my blogging to write my paper in the middle of this entry too. Alas... back to Word I go.