As of 5 o'clock EST today, I'm on vacation until 1/3/11. That's like...a lot of days. I'm so happy I could pee.
(Okay, today is the last day of our financial month, so I have to go in Monday or Tuesday and get all the tickets so I can do the final billing of the year. But I can bring that work home and do it while I'm drinking a beer, so it only sorta counts as work. I'm also planning to take some time next week to catch up on some projects. I can drink beer while I do that too. It's not so bad.)
Tomorrow is Jimi's 39th birthday. I'm making meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas for his birthday dinner. He doesn't know it, but I'm also going to make him a cake. And I've got him a cool present. But the meatloaf is the biggest deal; I don't eat meatloaf. In fact, fuck meatloaf. But baby loves it and misses it, so I'm going to make him one. I'll probably fix myself a little pizza or something. I certainly will not be eating meatloaf. I hope it doesn't turn out badly - how in the world are you supposed to make and judge the quality of a meal if you find it repulsive and nasty in it's best incarnation? Oh well. He'll be kind and tell me he loves it even if it's awful. He loves me that much.
Between the cake and the dinner, I've also got to clean the house and finish my Christmas shopping. We're hosting his family for Christmas Eve, and while I'm not ashamed to have most of my friends see the hair-covered and shoe-strewn floors, or the sink full of dishes, or the random bullshit that never seems to find a home because I don't think it has a home, I will not have Jimi's family over for the first time to see our house so lived-in. I will have it neat and tidy and spotless. It's only right.
Then on Saturday, we'll be at my parents' house first thing, bright and early. I'm worried about my Momma and Daddy; I hope they're not too sad. I hope their Christmas isn't ruined. I hope brother's absence doesn't create a vacuum that sucks all of the fun and celebration out of the day. Aunt Pam will be there; she's always a good time. Especially if she drinks.
Goodness, just thinking about the next few days exhausts me. It seems like a lot; I'll need the break next week.
Post a Comment
Please don't make me cry.