I just got back from lunch with the husband.  I ate a gyro the size of my head.  In related news, I don’t think I will ever need to eat again.  At least not today.  Unfortunately, that won’t stop me from needing to make dinner.

Sugar Daddy and I were discussing Christmas, as in what sorts of things could we possibly buy the children for Christmas.  They already have way too many things and no place to put them.  Yeah, I know.  Tell them they have to get rid of some things if they want any new things.  Gotcha.  That doesn’t really change the fact that we don’t know what to get them, assuming they prove themselves worthy of getting anything.  Oh, who are we kidding.  They’ll get stuff regardless of their worthiness.  We’re raising monsters here.  Monsters!

I like Christmas a lot.  It’s my favorite holiday.  I don’t like sending out the Christmas cards.  I don’t like the shopping.  Historically, I have enjoyed the giving, though.  But lately I just feel the burden of so many possessions.  I know.  #firstworldproblems.  But I’m 40 years old.  40-year-old housewives who have to pick up after other people all the time find it very easy to be burdened by possessions.  Children don’t find it quite so easy.  I want to simplify Christmas, but I have to ease people into lowered expectations.  So that is the challenge for this year.  Buy less stuff, but don’t let it look like we’re buying less stuff.  Also, I want to cure cancer and bring about world peace.

My mother-in-law has moved into the house she bought up here.  She hasn’t moved in all the way because she still has to move out of her house in California.  She’s staying here through Thanksgiving, and then she’s going to go back down there to pack up all her junk and get her house on the market, and hopefully be back up here in…February?  Maybe.  She’s been in that house for 30 years.  She has a lot of stuff.  The thought of it makes me tired and also want to scream a little.  I’ll change the subject.

November is National Novel Writing Month, of course.  Every year I say, “This year I am going to do NaNoWriMo,” and then I don’t, for whatever reason.  Usually because I’m busy and also afraid of failure.  It’s already, what November 7?  A whole week into NaNoWriMo, and I haven’t written one word of a novel.  Well, perhaps I have written a word somewhere, and I just don’t know it.  But I doubt it.  Anyway, I think it is too late to start with NaNoWriMo this year, especially considering that we’re doing a kitchen remodel next week.  You can’t write a novel while your kitchen is being remodeled.  There have been studies.

Perhaps I will do NaNoWriMo, but I’ll do it on Mormon Standard Time, so I’ll be writing my novel in, say, January.  I would have said February, but it has three fewer days.  Except that 2012 is a leap year, yes?  So two fewer days, but still.  Every day counts.  Perhaps it is more realistic to say March.  Except that one week of March is Spring Break, and you also can’t write a novel while your kids are home from school for a week.  Which leads us to April, which is one day shorter than March, but just as long as November, so…yeah, maybe I’ll do it in April.  We’ll see.

How can I round out this post?  Some current events?  I saw this morning that there’s been an outbreak of head and body lice at the #OccupyPortland squatters camp.  I saw that and thought, “Why does this not surprise me?”  It was a rhetorical question, by the way.  Sometimes I even ask myself rhetorical questions.  I’m pretty sure the term “unwashed masses” originated in Oregon.  Now, it isn’t really fair to laugh at Oregonians.  Lice are a pain in the neck (and head and body) and a real bad word to get rid of.  Also, they are very, very easy to catch.  All it takes is one unwashed person to start an epidemic.  But still.  It’s just so perfect that it would happen here.  At least it isn’t riots.

I had head lice in the third grade.  It really sucked.  You can imagine that with three long-haired sisters, I must have been very popular at home, too.  What I remember best–besides the nit-combing, I mean–is my father taking a louse and putting it under his microscope so we could all look at it close-up.  I thought he was just being gross.  But scientists are just kind of that way.  They don’t mind being gross, as long as there’s something to be learned.  I don’t remember particularly what the louse looked like.  Just that it was gross.  Also, my head is starting to itch just typing this.  I should probably change the subject again.

Oh, look, 800+ words.  I’ll give myself permission to stop.  We’ll chat more in the comments, all right?  Let’s stick with the plague and pestilence theme–although, if you have a Christmas-related plague story, that would be cool, too.  Perhaps together we can write a novel about a Christmas plague.  The gyro was the same size as her lice-ridden head.  Take it from there, amigos.  Au revoir.

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