Big sigh of relief here. Holy week is over, so that even though Easter continues to be celebrated in the Buxom household, with the chocolate and the baskets and the green stuff that's supposed to look like grass all over the place, my church attendance is back to its normal once-a-week pace, my music folder no longer resembles the Manhattan telephone directory, and while my laundry pile remains seemingly insurmountable, it's in the usual way--not a send-out-the-St. Bernards-because-I'm-dying-over-here way.
My free-floating anxiety levels remain, however, along with the Nativity scene that is still up.
The other day I mentioned the Nativity scene's being up as a little amuse-gueule of self deprecation. I hope you enjoyed it, even though I'm suffused with embarrassment that the entire internet knows what a lame-o I am--but does that get the Nativity scene carefully wrapped and stowed in the two big cardboard boxes it takes to store it properly? No, it does not.
So if you want that Nativity scene put away before Pentecost (that's 50 days after Easter, for the Christianity-impaired) call me up, and we'll arrange a time for you to come over and do it. Because I have laundry to do, people. And groceries to buy. And my son's birthday party to arrange.
I also have an unbelievable amount of volunteer crap to do. But we're not talking about that! Because talking about it doesn't get it done! Neither does venting! And both talking and venting increase stress, and increased stress increases cortisol levels in the blood, increased cortisol levels tell my body to add fat cells to my abdomen! Yes, you read it here first; it is increased stress levels and not Easter basket candy that is making me get fatter by the second.
So we're not going there. Because there is not enough spandex in the world, people.
So if you're reading this and you're on one of my committees, DON'T WORRY because everything is under control. Sort of.