I'm having trouble finding my Christmas cheer y'all.
I'm not sure why, exactly. At least part of it (probably a large part) is due to our accident. It happened on the way to my Christmas party. The Christmas party I was really looking forward to. The one I dressed up for. The one that I missed.
(And yes, I do get that I'm lucky I didn't get killed. It still sucks balls.)
Another part of it is that this year really didn't meet my expectations. I've learned my lesson, I suppose. When my expectations are really low, as they been the vast majority of my life, I don't get nearly as disappointed. I'm keeping that in mind for next year, but it doesn't help me much right now.
My husband has been spending time doing things like volunteering at the homeless shelter. This seems to work for him. He seems to get it. To be greatful. To understand. When I go I just feel sadness. I feel pain. The little children who need a place to live rip me to shreds. I don't have a big home, but I have a home. I could give them a home. I could give them popcorn and hugs and the shampoo that smells like berries. I could make sure they had warm gloves and cold milk. Instead I go home and cry for them. For everything they need and for how very little I can do to help.
The tree is up, but remains mostly unlit. I addressed cards for two days and still have a bunch to do. I've watched Christmas movies, baked treats, and wrapped gifts. I read my Bible. I read some inspirational stories. I tried writing. I talked to my dad.
Maybe I'm just turning into the Grinch.