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I am in some strange sort of post-Christmas, pre-tax season holding pattern wherein all I want to do is stay in bed with an ever-evolving stack of books. Sorry, Internet, I have been maintaining radio silence.Christmas was okay. I feel like I should write up some exhaustive list of things done, consumables consumed, and gifts opened, but eh. Whatever. Christmas was okay, Connor had fun, the in-laws and I got along, and there was no discussion of Santa because I am a super-grinch. There is something about the entire idea of making up a fantastical holiday home-invasion expert, convincing a child to believe in him, going through elaborate rituals to foster and encourage this belief, and then shattering the whole thing once the kid is six or seven that makes me twitch. I wonder what it could be!I don’t know whether to look forward to New Year’s Eve or just focus all my hopes of big fun on tax time. On the one hand, New Year’s Eve is the traditional big-time event for people like me (fun with booze, making out, ridiculously loud countdown to major non-event). On the other hand, I don’t drink so much anymore, I can make out with Michael any time I want, and I don’t want to ship Connor off to a babysitter and/or his grandparents overnight just so I can go out and make an ass of myself. (Boy! Feel that lingering holiday cheer!) On the, um, spare hand I have in my pocket, one of my best friends is visiting from out of town, and I will feel like the world’s biggest bitch if I don’t go out and make merry. Hmm.

I think it is time for me to discontinue this non-update, because I am sort of starting to annoy myself with all these words to explain all this nothing. Sorry guys, I guess it is (still) the season. For stupidity.

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