In the spirit of Christmas---I'm kicking Dan's ass!

And the Battle of the Christmas Cards score is:

Dan: 3
Lola: 12

Wassup now, Danny Boy?

There is no game on the planet (okay, except Scrabble) where I beat this guy and while I hate to get ahead of myself, I smell candy cane-scented victory.

Keep sending 'em, kids. Every little bit helps.

So I've been getting some shit for not posting more regularly and all I can say is---I am a temperamental artist and sometimes my temperament forces wine, cookies, and sweatpants on me and allows for nothing more.

For instance, yesterday I was as hungover as I've been in years and I simply couldn't move beyond drinking water and reading my book all day. (I'm hoping that the opportunity for vicarious living makes up for how annoying it is to hear that I actually spent an entire Tuesday recovering from a hangover. And I did. By God, I did.) (Also, next week when I am in a panic because no holiday tasks have been completed, I give you all permission to point and laugh.)

Why the hangover? Well, peeps, the blog and outside world converged on Monday night when I was invited to a cookie swap over at Spew regular Sassy's beautiful home. There is a Spew Crew---Sassy, Manchestaaa!, and Dammit Janet (formerly known as Just Janet and before that BFYNM: Best Friend You Never Met)--- who became followers of this blog via my sister Bec and who have been as supportive and enthusiastic of it as family...but we didn't really know each other outside of here. I had crossed paths with Sassy and Manchestaaa! a handful of times back when I watched my niece but the first time I ever met Dammit Janet was at my mom's funeral (which is when she changed her Spew handle from Best Friend You Never Met to Best Friend You Finally Met). I hadn't seen any of them since then but Sassy invited me to her party (and Danny Crocker contributed six dozen peanut butter balls for the swap so I could play) and it was a most fantastic time. Apparently cookie swaps are just awesome holiday parties that dudes aren't invited to (except for Sassy's hubby, of course, who surprised everyone by serving up Kahlua and Baileys in sugar-rimmed glasses and should therefore be invited to every party ever). It was fantasmo and so great to spend some time with these ladies---I got to actually learn about them which was such a treat.

Yet another way this blog has brought me joy...

I never take it for granted that I get to connect with all of you lovelies so even though I take sabbaticals and try to get away with posting songs or pictures as Spew filler, please know how appreciative I am that you show up here. I'll try to do better...I'll try!

Normally, I never really have to think up what I'm going to post here. It usually just comes Spewing out and (if my temperament allows it) gets caught on the page. The truth is that it's the editing that keeps me from posting. I've written so many entries that just never made it up because I didn't have time or the temperament to clean them up for posting. Temperament (which I have spelled incorrectly each time I've typed it so far in this post---you complete me, Spell Check) is now going to be my scapegoat for all things. I wanted to clean the Spoffice but my artistic temperament would not have it. I wasn't going to drink tonight but my artistic temperament was thirsty. The point is that the actual writing doesn’t usually require much effort.

The reason I bring this up is because right now I’m working for it. Right now I am not Spewing; I am faking it. (The first part was real, I swear. Only since the last paragraph have I been faking it. And all the other times before this were real too---don't go getting a complex.) I'm just a little jammed up. I've written about this before--- how my brain freezes like a computer with too many programs running when I've got a lot on my mind and that's what's going down right now. And before you say it, yes, if I didn't spend entire days nursing hangovers I would probably have a better grip on life. (But, as I see it, we deserve to be rewarded for drinking bottomless glasses of wine. And it was not so much a reward as it was---I cannot go anywhere or do anything today without dying so I will move as little as possible and hope the dying wanes.) (Wanes, Rob. Wanes.)

I’m trying to get ahold of my brain though because I told myself I just wouldn't do holiday stress this year. Really I just I can't . My body can't afford the energy depletion and my brain cannot take any more frazzle. Last week I showed up an hour early to my therapy appointment---which has been at the same time for the last two years---and was so oblivious to my mistake that I actually called my therapist from the waiting room and left a message asking what’s up with this shit (as nicely as I could). When I figured out I was early---Dan reminded me after I started sending him angry texts about the situation---I left another message explaining my mistake and then apologized for the negative psychic energy I sent her way. My brain is fried and there is no hustle to my bustle. I collapsed after we finally got our tree up the other day not from a physical fatigue but an emotional one. I felt a longing for my mom with every red ribbon loop and wire hook I hung from the branches and while in the end it was beautiful and I was glad it got done, I couldn't go on. I told Dan that was all I could muster this year in the way of decorating---if he wants the stockings up, he'll have to hang 'em himself.

And I'm not alone. I went to a holiday grief support group the other day where women told stories of how for years their one effort at "celebrating" the season was to go out to the backyard, grab a pine tree branch and throw it in a pot of soil. Many of the women there felt, as I have, that sometimes they seemed to the outside world that they are through with grieving when of course this isn't true. It's something I've talked about with my sisters too. You smile, you say I'm fine and then you go home and remember that a piece of you is dead and nothing will ever be the same. The other night I got a text message from one of my sisters late into the night which explained the agonizing emptiness that had just come over her as she remembered my mom's goneness. She didn't want me to do anything, she wasn't holding a knife to her wrist, she just was in immense pain and wanted someone to know. I got it. Not everyone gets it (though all of you seem to) and that can be hard. You feel like they expect there to be some sort of expiration date on your pain and of course there isn’t.

I thought that I had gained little from this support group---other than writing material, of course---but I'm recognizing now that it helped to be in a room where there were no such expectations. To be around a group of people who understand why I’m still having thoughts like, "Oh, I better call my mom, it's been a while since we talked," only to remember she’s gone and then feel so stupid and sad that this is still happening. That's what put me down the other night. I wanted to call my mom and tell her I put my tree up. I wanted to just chat with her and see if she had decorated her tree yet and ask her how her shopping was going.

I just want to go home to her.

And then today my therapist suggested that I give up drinking for a couple of weeks.

I actually laughed.

And just so we're clear, although I certainly do like my wine these days, I really don't have a drinking problem. I have plenty of problems, most of which I've admitted on here, why would I start lying now? The suggestion to abstain from alcohol was more about maximizing my energy by avoiding the depressant properties of booze. Fuh real, I can quit any time I want...just not in the two weeks before Christmas. Just not.

And like that, I'm Spewing. I can tell because I have no filter and told you about the drinking thing.

Apparently my artistic temperament doesn’t know what an inside thought is...