So I’m sitting here procrastinating over the millions of things I’m supposed to get done. Apparently I’m hosting my sister’s birthday and my parents’ anniversary party at my house on Tuesday, and the inside of my house still looks tore up, almost like I had left all the windows and doors open that day the winds blasted up to 80 mph. Basically boxes and papers all over the place. This is a direct consequence of the fact that I’m a single guy living in a three bedroom house, and I simply don’t know how to sanely manage all this space.

I’m pretty much paralyzed by indecision here.

I’ve also been listening to Christmas songs all day, and there are a few that always get me nostalgic, or even teary-eyed, and one of the more poignant ones is “My Grown Up Christmas List” because it always reminds me of the first post-September 11th Christmas season (which I did blog about once upon a time, a long, long time ago) and how I sat in a nearly deserted Target parking lot in the desolate northern hinterlands of Chicagoland, feeling utterly lonely, and trying to keep tears at bay.

Good times. Or something.

But, yeah, we need little kids in this family or something. The holiday season tends to be this terrible slog because of this godawful SAD. The lightbox does help, though. Whenever I remember to use it, I don’t feel like the weight of the world is on my back, and I don’t feel like I need to sleep for 12 hours on end. It doesn’t actually fix my life, though, so there’s still that to contend with.

But it is what it is. While my heart may now be a permanently desiccated ruin, I suppose I’m where I’m supposed to be. Fate. You can’t beat it. At all.