That time of year

For many reasons, this time of year ranks as my least favorite. I find myself wanting to burrow into the covers and come out sometime in March.

Friends run around giddy with shopping and planning special meals and treats. They actually enjoy getting out when the temperature drops to the 30s and those feather-like snowflakes drift from the skies (although here it looks more like someone cut open a feather pillow in front of a powerful fan).

The stress of procrastination never changes year to year for me. If anything, it intensifies. I want to give friends and family perfect gifts but I do not enjoy walking the aisles of Wallyworld with bunches of irritable, snarling people with their crying children who desperately need a nap. I sympathize with the tired, grouchy workers who have been asked one time too many where in the store the super Jedi fighter jet rests. I understand how the worker feels when the customer has a hissy fit because the desired object sold out the first hour. I understand, but I do not want any part of the resulting flurry of abuse sure to follow the announcement.

I miss you, Dude.