I can’t bring myself to take down my Christmas tree. I hadn’t put one up in a few years so I’ve really enjoyed mine this year. It’s small but festive and heavy with sentimental ornaments and a few new ones I scored on clearance after the holiday. Since I hadn’t put up a tree in awhile, I had to root through ornaments of relationships’ past. Deciding which ones to keep was a rather depressing chore, which may explain why I’ve long neglected it. But now I have a clean slate, aching to be adorned with the baubles of new love.
Oh my God – I promise never to talk like that again.
The beginning of my first full week of work in quite some time is going relatively smoothly, except I broke a nail all the way to the quick. I jokingly asked my boss about workman’s comp since it happened on the job, but he didn’t seem amused. I think he’s just jealous because he’s a nail biter. That’s not really true but he is vigilant about using hand sanitizer gel. It seems a little silly, if you ask me. I don’t fret a lot about germs but I do fret about many other odd things most people would think are dumb, so I try not to judge. Like for example, I really hate it when my apartment smells like food. I guess the smell of cookies wouldn’t bother me but I rarely bake. Regular food smells just annoy me. I’d prefer a neutral or non-food odor. WEIRD, I know.
A few nights ago, I finished knitting a Christmas present for a friend. I hadn’t knitted in quite awhile and was quickly reminded why. For one thing, it seems like it takes 100 years to finish a project. I use chunky needles, which make projects go quickly but it still sometimes feels like a drudgerous task. The main problem is that I get frustrated when I mess up because I can’t fix my work. The first scarf I ever knitted had holes in it from when I accidentally dropped stitches but my Mom easily fixed all of them because she’s an expert knitter. I’m not experienced enough to do that, so my Inner Perfectionist goes crazy. I have to take deep breaths and say, “It’s OK! No one will notice those holes big enough to stick your fist through.”
Monday evening as Moxy and I watched a new spin-off of The Hills, we sheepishly wondered if other 30-somethings still watch these inane, hedonistic, scripted reality shows. I suspect if we ever have children, we’ll long for the days when we had enough free time to waste on such drivel. Still in the meantime, we can’t resist. We heartily hope we’re not the only ones so tell me, are you one of us?