This Christmas, much like the many Christmases before, I intended to mail out holiday greetings cards to all of our friends, old and new – for the purpose of spreading the joy and cheer of the Christmas season.
The idea sounded manageable in theory.
So, I went out and bought shiny, festive cards. I gathered up the supplies, found my address book and made a neat stack on my office desk.
Then, I piled newspapers on top of the cards. Next, onto the stack went school papers, research papers, scrap papers, books, phone numbers, a magazine, an article or two, and all of those potentially tax-deductible sales slips to be filed – oh and let’s not forget that nasty salmon-cake recipe my mother-in-law gives me each time she visits, along with instructions on how to broil pig toes w/ proprietary blend breading or deep-fry cabbage.
Okay, so once again, my cards are lost. I’m running out of time. And the pile takes on a life of it’s own. It mocks me – it depressess me and intimidates me with it’s ever-increasing size… Yes, I know I should tackle the pile but I fear an avalache, a blizzard – what if I die of fatal papercut complications? So, I consider sending out Easter Cards instead. Ah, who am I kiddin’? I did the same thing last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. Come next spring, there will be new pile of papers to bury myself in. The Christmas pile will have shifted elsewhere – most likely walking on its own at that point.
So, save me the trouble of deluding myself and spinning fantasies about my abilities to manage the paper clutter – and just let me just wish you a Merry Christmas from somewhere in the pile.