Ho, Ho, Ho

So tonight I believe I am going to at least attempt to not be quite so vacuous as I was last night. Really shouldn't be much of a struggle to top that post, but hey, what can I say, a girl's gotta start somewhere. I think the trouble w/ me is that I really haven't been doing much of anything since the Great Houghton Heist (okay, it wasn't really a heist at all, but c'mon, that is a really catchy name!) For those of you who don't actually live in Houghton, I should probably be a bit more explicit. This semester in Australia, I was pining away for certain persons who live in the fair town of Houghton and lamenting the fact that I would not be able to see them for a whole year in the form of odes and ballads and other forms of poetry which I accompanied on my lyre. After a while, I got fed up with all this lamenting, so I raised up my MIGHTY right arm and brought in down w/ one of my soverign judgements: "I will go to Houghton this semester before these good souls leave the continent," said I, "or I will die in the attempt!" Well, from there it was a very simple matter of arranging passage for myself as a cabin boy (don't ask) on an ocean liner across the Big Pond (the Pacific, for those of you who are not adept at geography). After landing on American soil, the only obstacle left to overcome was the girth of the landmass of our 48 states, which I navigated across by earning my passage on various stagecoaches riding shotgun (literally) and protecting the shipments of gold from robbers, injuns, vagabonds, saloon girls, card sharks and other brigands. The last few miles were so snowy that I had to switch to sled dog and mush my way over the Appalacian Mountains surviving off of nothing more than fruitcake, melted snow and my cheery disposition. But I finally rolled in to town on the evening of the 9th, exactly a week ago as of today to be precise. Well, there was no small ruckus (that's called a litotes, means there was a big ol' ruckus) when it was generally known that I was about, especially since I came bearing gifts; all the riches of Australia were packed along those rugged trails to bring holiday joy to those that I hold dear. It was a fine visit, all in all, w/ plenty of catching up and other such vital business which will hopefully eventually serve to allow me to let my dears go off all around the world next semeter without my protection. It is indeed a dangerous business, stepping outside your door...

Well, since then, life's been pretty quiet. I've been frantically trying to wrap things up for my independent study, though on reflection tonight I realized that I don't actually know when I have to get everything in by. I was hoping to find Thryn online tonight to ask her, but so far, no such luck. I am trying actually to not set myself too many things to try to accomplish over break. I usu. try to be so ambitious and just end up disappointed, so maybe if I am not so lofty minded about what can be done in my alloted space of time, I won't be let down. The time is already flying by too quickly. I feel like Christmas is coming up much too fast, not because I still have tons of shopping or wrapping to do, but because I don't feel Christmas yet. Sadly enough, I still usually find myself trapped in the frighteningly subjective world of emotions to determine what is going on exactly in my life, so for me Christmas is not a day, it is a feeling. I had that feeling for a bit in Australia, it was lost somewhere in the crossing, I fear. I actually think it's probably been years since I've felt like it was Christmas at Christmas time. I think that is the terror that seizes me every year, that I will not find it in time for that day of days in which everything is supposed to be so pristinely like a Hallmark card. I hate to be a Scrooge about this, but I usually find Christmas to be so disappointing, it is like going to a play in which the scene is well-laid out and beautifully represented, the players all in place, the music and the aromas are even staged to set the mood, but at the most climatic scene, the star of the show just doesn't come out on stage. After a few moments, the audience starts to shift nervously in their seats, people begin coughing, and flickers of conversation begin to quietly crop up all over the room. Then finally, after an anxious minute more, the curtain is hastily dropped and the audience is ushered back out onto the chilly streets of reality, the show is considered a flop and all the critics tear it to pieces the next day in their columns. Tragic, isn't it?

This is even worse for me because, as a Christian, I think there is even more pressure to get excited about Christmas. This isn't just about cookies, parties, a pile of presents and a chubby guy in a red suit. This is about the savior of the world, God himself coming down to earth in bodily form to dwell among his creations, the ultimate in humiliation and the ultimate in love. Isn't that something that should just send warm fuzzies coursing through your whole body? Unfortunately excitement and gratitude isn't something I can flip on with a switch, even with such a worthy impetus as that. I know with my head that this is big news, but it's hard for my heart to capture the kind of wonder that such an event should inspire.

So what to do, what to do? I could just drop the whole thing, learn to expect disappointment and admit that the magic of Christmas must only be for children and fools. Or I could slog away and ignore the sputterings and grindings of my emotional generator that clearly indicate that there's a glitch in the system and keep on keeping on trying to ignite some life in the old thing; bake the cookies, play the music, read all the right verses of my Bible and pray that my defunct inner child comes out to play. Hmmm...another wholesale personality overhaul to be completed by December 25th? And I thought this was going to be my less ambitious holiday...