Post Christmas Meltdown

Today is the day.

Today is the day all my holiday stress comes together to form a ball inside my chest that makes me feel like I'm going to explode.

I love Christmas. I love everything about it, what it stands for course, the giving, the wrapping, the tree, the lights...even the snow (it's the only day of the year I like snow, so God, if you miss Christmas with the snow, just keep the rest to yourself please. Thanks). I'm very strategic about my stress attacks. I don't want them ruining Christmas, and I certainly don't want them beginning my new year, so December 30th is the day. Before then, I refuse to let anything about Christmas stress me out. It's the most wonderful time of the year, right? So I don't stress over perfect gifts. I don't stress over the perfect meals, and I absolutely refuse to stress over a clean house.

But then, just like that, Christmas is over, and suddenly all the things I refused to stress over are suffocating me. Dishes from days ago are all over the table and kitchen counters, stale food crumbs seem to be everywhere, and clean and dirty laundry is piled up in every room. The floor is covered with toys; many opened and many still in boxes, the tree I loved so dearly appears to be getting bigger and taking up more space in an area I could otherwise be using to organize this mess, and the snow is laughing in my face, as if to say, "You're stuck there until you clean that mess up!"

And so, as crazy as it may sound, that stress ball festers into this real, live, physical being, tightening inside my chest, and it needs a target of destruction. Today, all my anger lands on that poor defenseless Christmas tree; the very same one I was so overjoyed to decorate just three weeks ago. This afternoon, I felt like I might die if that tree didn't come down today. Jelani doesn't understand. He's loving, and kind, but he just does not understand what it is like to be here day in and day out, with no car for escape, suddenly having twice the stuff you had before, plus a giant, dying pine tree with ornaments sliding off into the floor, a dog tracking in wet footprints several times a day, and the complete inability to focus on any other cleaning task while all you can think about is how you could put to good use that giant space that awful tree is taking up. But my husband, who works, and hasn't had much vacation, has not had time to enjoy the tree, and therefore refused to help me take it down. I'm not complaining. It's understandable, so I sit here, keeping my hands busy, telling you all just how crazy I am, while I shoot sideways daggers at that Christmas tree, which is suddenly to blame for every single mess inside this house. Nothing else can be done until that beast is conquered.

For now, while my blessed children are napping, I shall go read my Bible and ask Jesus to remove this hate from my heart, because the sensible me knows that tree didn't do anything to deserve my inexplicable desire to tear it apart limb from limb and drag it out of my house.

Phew. I feel better already. Thanks. :)