Its That Time of Year

I awoke this morning, the first day of the New Year, in pretty much the same funk I've woken up to for the last umpty-ump years. This year was just slightly, well, funkier. The house is still festive--can't take down the Nativity scene until at least the Wise Men make their entrance. And the stockings are still hung by the chimney with care. But Santa has come and gone and so have the children.

And there it is, ladies and gentlemen. The house is so quiet. The cat is sleeping--well there's really nothing noteworthy there, the cat is always sleeping. The gifts have all been put away. The good china is back in the hutch until the next family event. There are scads of cookies still to be eaten, candy in the candy dish and gift breads still on the counter in the kitchen. There are empty boxes still on the hearth from the youngest. He took the contents and left too quickly to my mind, to go back to warmer climes, chummier company, and a schedule in retail that forbids family time. Oh, that was so unfair of me, I think. By now, if he and his sister were still under the roof, most of the goodies would be gone, consumed by the constantly grazing hordes that come with those two. I look around at the snowmen decorations, the angels, the little stuffed teddy bears I put in some people's stockings and think to myself that even though I knew it would be over sooner this year, I didn't really know it. But now I do. I'm re-reading about 4 books at once, playing more inane computer games and putzing around the house trying to stay away from the West Wing collection that someone loaned me so I won't stay wrapped up in the blanket all day, feeling fuzzy and not of this world. I probably need to get back to work so I can stop thinking. But what can I do to stop feeling? That my friend is what makes it the hardest time of the year.