I have spent the last few days genuflecting in the warmth of my Christmas tree's glow. Oh, it does encourage warm Rankin-Bass infused fuzziness. It says kittens and rainbows and a big mug of cocoa with marshmallows. And then the pace of the real world rears its head and to that diligent master, I have to give mind.
Yes, it's the second week of December. Yes, it is two weeks out from Christmas. Yes, I spent two and half hours on the phone this week with my financial advisor. The bad news? Between our various investments, 401K accounts and other mutual funds, Fang and I have collectively lost half a million dollars this year. On the upside, we currently have jobs, our investments are intended for the long term, we have no outstanding debt outside of our mortgages and we're living well below our means. Cold comfort. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. And the motherfucker is enjoying a tax shelter somewhere offshore.
I do love the holidays but the realities of the outside world are far too glaring. Am I thinking about the fact the I have done absolutely no Christmas shopping nor have I even thought about holiday cards? We're two weeks away from Christmas and I'm ambivalent. I tried to prioritize last night. The doorman, the garage guys, the drycleaner and other sundry service providers would need their annual tips. There's no skimping there. I must send out holiday cards to relatives, the family contingent in Britain, old friends in the UK, a few dear friends in California, Georgia and the NY tri-state area. I will need to buy some sort of sundry offering for my direct reports at work who have labored valiantly throughout a long and difficult year (there are only 14 of them). I don't want to forget to acknowledge these same efforts by my work departments and lest I forget, our property manager for our California house has been wonderful and there's the cat sitter and the woman who does my weekly blowouts and jeez, I have to acknowledge the worker bees in our satellite offices...the head is about to explode.
I think I need to make some lists and execute on them in methodical fashion. But I'd rather curl up in a fetal position under my Christmas tree and weep silently for about an hour. No worries. people. It'll be fine tomorrow.
3 comments:
Your Santa he scare me
Now girl, what you have there are rich white lady problems. Count yourself lucky! (And I can tell you that, 'cus I'm a rich white lady, too!)
Oh Christo. I suppose you're right. It does sound rather "oh, bother" in the retelling. I guess I could have much bigger problems. I'm glad you think you're a rich white lady too, baby. :)
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