Ishmael is sleeping well. I. on the other hand, have not been.
Welcome to the other side of end-of-semester grading. I survived. Barely. In the past 48 hours, I have slept a total of seven hours. Eight, if you count the hour-long nap I took this afternoon. And now, it's time to settle into the preparations for Christmas. Shopping. Writing Christmas cards. Rehearsing music. Baking cookies, if I'm lucky. Watching It's A Wonderful Life. Trying not to feel like George Bailey on the bridge, staring down at the roiling black water.
To say that I feel unprepared for the coming holiday would be an understatement. My Christmas essay is written. My Christmas poem is not. I have bought a total of three or four presents and can't really afford to buy any more at the moment. Right now, as I'm typing this post, I'm watching The Man Who Invented Christmas, a film about Charles Dickens composing A Christmas Carol. And worrying over his constant money troubles.
For those of my disciples who've been reading this blog for any length of time, you already know my affinity for Dickens. My habit of reading a 1200-page Dickens biography every year or so. If I believed in reincarnation, I would say that I am Charles Dickens. His energy speaks to me. The 20-mile midnight walks. Constant state of creative frenzy. Gregariousness. He's a guy after my own heart.
Of course, Dickens worked himself to death at a very young age. A stroke at his writing desk when he was 58 years old. That's only a few years away for me. It does seem that I'm always working, always worried about money and bills. I certainly have that in common with Boz, as well. And those worries are what have been causing me some sleepless nights these last few weeks.
Tonight, my task is Christmas cards. Have to get them addressed and mailed. About 75 of them. Yes, 75. The list keeps getting longer every year. I do love the process. Thinking about friends and family that I haven't seen in a long while. Imagining them opening the envelope, reading the letter inside, staring at the enclosed photo.
I have no time to spare. Tomorrow, I head to Calumet for two days of rehearsal. A show on Friday night. No rest for this Dickens.
Saint Marty is trying to be thankful this evening for Christmas and cards and presents and carols. Trying really hard.
No comments:
Post a Comment