Relaxation During the Holidays

It is the worst of times, it is the worst of times.  Hey, this ain’t no classic, and I’m not Dickens.  So I can’t put a best in there along with the worst.  No I cannot.  Sorry, but it’s the stress.  It’s got me frayed, frazzled, eye-ballin’ the inside of the upper eyelids with my head back and my shoulders wrapped with industrial duct tape.  So I need to chill, I need some ease, I need a red hammock plush with thick down and frosty lemonade at arm’s reach.  In short, I need to relax.

Now you would not think it to be such a daunting task, for it seems to be a simple thing.  Yet these are the holidays and, ergo, simplicity often departs, allowing for that irritating, so-called Mr. Complicated to come and roam from room to room.  He sees me relax and promptly kicks me in the shins as if to say, “Oh, no you don’t!  It’s the holidays, you know!  There’s no relaxing for you!”

I hang the wreath but drop the nail; I string the lights but knots prevail.  At night I lay me down to rest, yet even dreams are full of stress.

So I speak to Mr. Complicated and at first toss out a simple, "Why?" but I soon realize I am merely shoeing imaginary horses so then I try to reason with the little twerp (he’s puny and thin with wire-rim glasses and always seems to be holding a clipboard) but he just ho-hums and then in a squeaky monotone says, “I have a job to do, Sir” so I toss up my arms and flop down like a dishcloth on the green love-seat but he even follows me there--can you believe the effrontery?

I pick a football game I like, but then runs in little tyke since relatives with kids are here, and tension tugs from ear to ear.

Somehow, during this time of outside lights, Santa Claus, and the over-worn sentiment of, “Are you ready for Christmas?” all the automobiles in the entire state of Indiana clog the roads in this here county, in this here town and local surround--yes, it has to be. There is no other logical explanation.  Ah, there used to be a time when driving the family sedan was cause for a sigh, for a deep breath, for a modicum of millimeter meandering by the gluteus maximus and lower lumbar vertebrae.  But oh no, no, no, not now!  There’s Mr. Complicated, again, sitting proximate in his insufferable self holding that damn clipboard, and sitting much too close if you ask me. 

I grab the car keys off the shelf; I drive the roads but tense myself.  Past noon I’m usually housebound since he with clipboard stays around.

And so the march of days goes on with the eggnog and the wrapping and the refrigerator inventories and the wassail and the aunts and uncles and in-laws and the one million and one things to tend to, or at least think about or plan around.  That suave, sophisticated, laid back impresario of relaxation is off fishing, however, somewhere in Florida I think.  Yep, he's on vacation.  He has a cell phone, but he mostly keeps it turned off--mostly.

I watched the holidays go by!  I sought to chill--I sure did try!  The holidays had consequence, for now you’ll note I went past tense!


570 Words
Writer’s Cramp Winner
12-19-15