To Christmas or Not To Christmas . . . that is the question

I have been trying to figure out if I should do anything for Christmas. Typically, Christmas is my jam. I am the nerd that plans the holiday party and orders the holiday cards with dorky photos of our cats, Roman, and me, all the while embracing the joy and cheesiness of the season! I have a closet full of decorations, and to portray true scale, a closet in a 1 bedroom NYC apartment is like 25% of the unit. But well worth it!

Well, usually it has been. But this year has put a cloud on that. I mean it's not like I am depressed or sad about the transpiring of the last week, but it feels like Limbo had a love child with Anxiety who was adopted by Freedom and Joy. No matter what, that kid is going to be loads of fucked up!

My mind is super distracted by what my next steps should be. So far, here is my list of ideas:

1. Return to my professional organizing days, double my rates, and seek out clients who want me to help them organize their sock draws and shred all the paper
2. Go back to school and invest in clown college a Masters in organizational psychology
3. Write the biographical fiction novel I have been imagining working on for the last few years
4. Get Botox, but not for wrinkles. For these AWFUL chin hairs that are spreading faster than horny rabbits
5. Have a baby Plant a tree
6. Find the 6 figure corporate gig that would help pay off debt and cultivate my career, but would require a lot of ironing, both clothing and hair
7. Win the lotto
8. Lose the weight
9. Pay off the debt by reaching out to potential rich relatives still in the motherland on the brick of death

Nowhere on this list is roasting chestnuts and/or singing drunken carols after downing a few cups of coquito while tree decorating. 

That all said, every time I leave my apartment, my nose is greeted by the aromas of winter's presence and of pine. And don't get me started on the BLASTING of Christmas Carols on Ditmars Blvd and 31st street. And the little baby Jesus who looks so full of hope and life (give it 33 years, kid), adorning the Catholic Church garden next door. It all brings me such joy but I also feel like I am missing out.

Also, let's face it, this is probably the last Christmas with 2 out of my 3 cats. I am sure they want me to feed them treats and clean their poop and pet their heads and cuddle them to sleep decorate the joint. Or maybe it's just for me, to remember this as being our last Christmas together.

Even my Muslim husband, Roman, wants me to at least get a tree! He's always so supportive, but this year he wants to ensure we celebrate. I personally think it's cuz he wants a stocking again, which totally blew his mine last year (a sock for presents? and it's all for me?). But in all sincerity, I think he knows it will liven up my spirits.

I honestly don't know what to do. A friend of mine even offered to come over and help me decorate, which moved me to tears. I am always moved when someone wants to take time to help me with something that seems so mundane, in light of everything else that is happening (did I mention the chin hair?!?!). 

I'll give it some thought and decide by weeks end. By then, I'll only have 2 weeks of the holiday to enjoy. Which is still something truly lovely. No matter what, when it begins to look a lot like Christmas, it begins to look a lot like happiness. 

To be continued . . .