I feel like somebody has broken into Time and fast forwarded it by two weeks. I can’t believe it is the date it actually is. I am definitely NOT READY for Christmas this year. I haven’t even put you up yet. I usually put you up on December the first. It is now the twentieth of December and you are still in your box in the big cupboard in the bathroom. There is a little tree in the front room. (Nothing to do with me, I swear.) It is very cute. I feel bad. I feel like you are missing out. And it’s not that I favour the little tree over you, because actually, I love you, and when you are standing in the corner of a room, dressed in baubles and all twinkly with the lights and everything, you are the loveliest thing ever. But I’ve had so much happening this year that it’s seemed like too much of a hassle to lift your box down from the cupboard, carry it downstairs and into the front room (which is always messy and never has any space in it to do anything), then sort your branches into colour-coordinated size order, then fit everything together, and THEN start trying to untangle the fairy lights. I have made this task a mammoth undertaking in my mind, and so it has got to be the twentieth of December and you are still hidden away in the cupboard.
I really don’t want you to miss out on Christmas. I would rescue you right now if it weren’t 2 a.m. But I will definitely fix this situation tomorrow. And then maybe it will actually feel like Christmas, and Time will seem right again.
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