Every year I come to the same depressing conclusion: Jesus invented the holiday season specifically to remind you that you aren't good enough at anything...and that next year you should do better.
The quiet calm of a wintry evening: you wrap up on your roofdeck and watch the sunset explode Ravens-purple over the icy blue Baltimore skyline, and in that airy space your mind starts to wander, to evaluate, the meander through the byways of your life. And if you're conscientious and still, you should hear that little voice of the angel Gabriel sitting on your shoulder and announcing just to you..."Not.Good.Enough."
The annual shopping rush should remind you how badly you've handled your finances this year. Had it not been for those extra few pitchers of margaritas you drunkenly ordered (and couldn't even finish), or the gym membership that prorates to $172 per workout due to your pathetic absence, had you been just slightly more wise with your spending then you'd have that $300 for that practical and very stylish fur parka coat that normally retails at $1800.
The holiday parties that give you an excuse to splurge on sequins mean a few hours spent in awful dressing rooms trying to sausage-roll your thighs into a dress you would have fit in easily just 4 months ago - again, too much guacamole, too many margaritas. (DAMN YOU, BLUE AGAVE)
And the home that weather forces you to snuggle up into? Full of dog hair, inelegantly arranged furniture and clusters of bad art that remind viewers the difference between "eclectic" and "hot mess" and solidify your place in the latter. Also, your neighbors think your Christmas decorations suck.
So is it any wonder that this is the time of year that I make a flailing attempt to get it together, to crash diet myself into electrolyte imbalance just before parties so that just for one brief moment I can be the thinnest of my friends (my universally-thin and cheerfully indifferent friends) who voluntary(!) hover around the crudites and drink sparkling water because they genuinely love fresh veggies and abstinence. (NOTE TO SELF: GET NEW FRIENDS)
The results are always as sub-par as my post-diet kidney functioning: not quite failing but obviously stressed and smelling of asparagus.
