Loaded up my car to the gills and drove 40 miles to meet Life Partner at his workplace. (Yes, they make him work Christmas Eve.) Unloaded my car into his car.
Then traveled 70 miles down to Chris-mess Celebration No. 2 of 3. (I decided to skip No. 1 of 3 (my mom's side of family) because it meant driving alone in my temperamental beater and with my broken vertebrae. Plus I was so disorganized that there was no way I could have been ready to leave the house for two days with the car packed up and appliances off by 6 p.m., even though I had all day to prepare.
We arrived at No. 2 (his mother's) at 12:45 a.m. for his family's Christmas Eve gift ritual, which went on until 3:30 a.m. Saturday.
Then the next day we loaded up the car again (this makes three times) and traveled another 30 minutes away for more Chris-mess (this time at my parents' house, with paternal rels). We didn't get our car packed up with new clutter and tsotchkes (a fourth time) until 11 p.m. for the 90-minute journey back up to home.
Three days later, on Tuesday, Dec. 28, every bone and tendon and muscle in my body hurts. I'm exhausted, dragging myself around; it's the biggest deal just to check email and answer the phone. My friend J. called and said she was coming over to bring something I left at her house, and I nearly started crying. I was like, "Leave me alone! I'm tired and a blob of nothingness!"
Then Monday I had to meet a deadline -- which I did, around 3 a.m. Tuesday.
Now today I just started another deadline story due Jan. 2. So am exhausted but frantic, which is worse than being frantic but exhausted because when you are exhausted but frantic, you are too exhausted to think clearly about what you frantically need to get done.
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