It's that time of year again!

Yup, those of you who know me, know what I'm talking about. Time to break out this little guy, once again:

Today in the dentist's office, I heard Johnny Mathis's "Silver Bells." I wanted to barf.

Tonight on the phone, John was talking about Thanksgiving. Oh, goody. He asked, "On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel about our going to [his sister's] house? And no, you can't use negative numbers." Damn. He read my mind.

I am so not in the mood for the annual turkey-fa-la-ho-ho shit. But then again... when am I? Every year in November, I wish for an IV drip that will put me peacefully to sleep and leave me there until January 2.

This sentiment seems to worsen as I get older. Really, I don't know what happened. Would you believe I actually used to bake cookies as gifts? From scratch, too. Those pain-in-the-butt sugar cookies where you have to mix the dough, chill it, roll it, cut out the cookies one by one and painstakingly decorate them.

Got a little older, and switched to mini quick breads from a mix. Few years later -- ah, screw baking. Cards. That's the ticket.

Now, I don't even feel like sending those.

I had to laugh. In my blog's keyword search phrases today, I found "grinch spanking." Grinch = Erica. Nahhh... I don't really want to take away everyone else's holidays. I just wish I could go somewhere and avoid them. Preferably into a coma.

At least this year, John isn't sick. I am very grateful for that. The only thing that kept me sane last year was knowing I had my Connecticut adventure coming in January, when I went to shoot with Sarah and Paul. I have no such adventures to look forward to this time.

Someone, very well meaning, suggested that I could distract myself and make a few bucks by doing some seasonal work in retail. I appreciate that they were caring enough to try to come up with something for me. But, to quote Weird Al, I'd rather dine on shards of glass for all eternity than deal with a teeming mass of harried holiday harridans.

Thank goodness for ST. He'll be here. I wish I could bring him with John and me to the family dinners. We joked about how he could grab my butt in front of John's horndog brother-in-law. But you know, I like ST too much. I wouldn't subject him to that. I'm sure he'll have a better time with his dog.

It's stinking thinking to say, "If I just had something special and fun to look forward to, I'll get through." I know this. I need to cope without having carrots dangled in front of me.

So herein begins the countdown. Tonight is November 15th. Forty-six days until January 1.

I hope y'all don't hate my crabby guts by then. :-)  Bear with me.