Don 't Call Me in January

I’ve been a really bad, bad blogger. And a really, really bad blog-friend. Which is probably why I’ll never have a career as a writer. And I have an even worse one as a friend. One actually requires writing on a daily basis; the other a reciprocal line of communication more than once every 6 weeks. Both seem to be something I can’t become disciplined to do. Life keeps getting in the way.

Is it just me or has every frickin’ person we’ve ever known decided to show up in our lives in the last 5 months?

And on that note, I’m about “hostsessed” out. I do love entertaining and I do love sharing our new home and I do love seeing people I haven’t seen in years, but I’m weary. And I miss my life. It seems all I’ve done all summer is pick up clutter, dust furniture, plan menus, camp out at the local grocery, Costco and Discount Liquor, cook and clean up. Actually since moving in May I haven’t had time to figure out what my life will be in this new place. I love having my own space – my own physical space to work and think and play and just be. The problem is – I haven’t had much time to actually be, let alone be in my own space.

So this Monday morning at 4:30 am finds me sitting here in my own space in kind of a crappy mood after another weekend of non-stop entertaining and socializing, with a couple more days to go. It finds us with short tempers and tense moments and just wanting to be left alone.

It finds me with a list of ideas I’m excited to get to – you know, those ideas that come to you on a walk in the woods… or at 4:00 in the morning when you can’t sleep because you went to bed angry w/your spouse - but don’t seem to have the time to actually get to. The Umbrella Project really spurred my imagination and I’m anxious to explore a couple more ideas. But it seems I just get inspired and just get started and I have to stop.

After Wednesday I’ll have exactly two weeks to implement my inspired moments before I don my hostess apron again. Three days of smiling and offering drinks and serving dinner and I’ll have exactly 2 ½ weeks before I’m packing a suitcase and boarding a plane, this time jetting off to spend time with yet more family. (And why is it I anticipate at least at some point in those four days short tempers and tense moments and wanting to be left alone will enter into the scenario…)

Returning from that trip I will have 2 weeks before I am entertaining once more for the holidays. And then Christmas arrives 4 weeks later.

Lest I be labeled as a “people hater,” I assure you I’m not. I enjoy my friends and family immensely. It’s just been a lot this year. A whole lot. And the artist in me cries out for my space ~ literally and figuratively.

Typically January, after all the excitement and fun of the holidays, is a letdown for me. This year I find myself looking forward to it…

I love ya’, but don’t call me in January.