Well we're done.
The halls have been un-decked, and now I has a sad.
My boyfriend Marcel seems to be coping much better. See, he's more of a minimalist whereas I come from a long line of chotchkie loving, clutter bugs that will cover any surface that doesn't have pigeon spikes on them.
While my festive powers have over the years worked more than mere magic on Marcel; he now not only loves to decorated for the holiday, he thinks about and plans this in advance. Even as we were packing up the decorations today, he was talking about decorating for next Christmas. But being a muggle, my powers have their limits. By about New Year's Eve he starts getting fidgety. Ticks start to become noticeable. He starts hallucinating about clean surfaces, and empty rooms.
After four and a half hours, everything was wrapped and boxed and waiting on the stairs to be transferred to the storage unit in the morning, and Marcel is happy.
On the other side of the coin, I am depressed. Looking about where once there were Christmas trees, nutcrackers, wreaths, candle holders, and countless other festive bric-a-brac; staring at empty table tops and empty mantels, I am but a crushed shell of a man.
My only option at this point is to hit the liquor cabinet. In fact I'm already on my second Bloody Caesar, and I very well may have a third.
Here's hoping the sweet sweet haze from the Vodka Gods will soon blur my vision and cause bright lights to flash across my eyes...
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