Trapped in the Christmas Time Warp

Whew! What the hell happened? One minute I was driving home from my last class, having completed my finals and feeling good, and now it's New Year's Eve. 2009 is just about over and I know there was a Christmas in there somewhere. I see remnants around the house: wrapping paper under the couch, half-burned Christmas candles, new stuff lying in piles around the Christmas tree waiting to be put somewhere, six more pounds of body weight on my frame. Six pounds! Yikes.

My muse decided what we needed was to get good and drunk for a few days and goof-off. "You've been working too hard, juggling school, the press, and being a mom. I want you to let loose, drink a lot of Saki, and dance around your living room in your underwear. Howl at the moon. Be silly. Eat a lot of popcorn at the movies. Forget work for a while."

So I did. My daughter went to visit her dad, leaving my hubby and I plenty of time to drink and make merry. We usually just run from task to task, playing tag-team child care while dashing to the next job. The greatest gift I got this year was reconnecting with my funny, sweet, slightly scroogish hubby. By the time our daughter returned, we were feeling hungover and cheerful.

Then my in-laws came for several days. Thankfully I really like them so the visit was great, but in the middle of all the presents and conversations I started to feel that familiar, writing itch. How long had it been since I updated my blogs? Wrote in my journal? Thought about the Punk anthology? Worked on my novel? I longed for two hours of solitude to create.

The family has left but my daughter has several more days of vacation, so I still don't have much time to write. Right now she's watching a movie, so I'm grabbing a few minutes to warm up my typing fingers and writing mind by updating this blog. My head is foggy from too much sugar and alcohol and my pants feel tight around my middle. Two weeks of creative inactivity has made me slow and insecure. Can I still formulate sentences?

You have to start somewhere. Pick up a pen, or open your laptop. Shake off the holiday pixie dust and stretch out those writing muscles. It's a new year, a brand new year to create.

I hear my muse yawn in my bed. She pushes the blankets from over her head, sits up and looks around. "What happened?"

"Christmas," I say.

"Oh right. Wow. That was a lot of fun. Lets do it again next year." She swings her legs around and stands, stretches, then shakes her mane of sleepy snakes until they start to hiss with irritation. Slowly she walks toward me and asks, "What are you working on?"