Holly and Ivy Friday

Christmas holiday is so close, I can taste it…
…and it tastes like a roasted pork loin, people.
Roasted pork.

Oddly enough, this week, focused on the concept of joy, has been less fun than one might expect.
Well, I’ll just say it… it’s sort-of sucked.
No one has died, and there were good moments to be had… islands of fun in an ocean of molten lava.
Everything seemed to go just slightly askew, and I was suddenly sort-of… unhappy.
But, I did learn something: sometimes (just sometimes… I doubt this will work if your pet has been hit by a car) you can reclaim your Christmas spirit by having a ZOEGirl dance party (alone, in your apartment, alone).
Does anyone remember ZOEGirl?
Memory a bit fuzzy?

1) BOOM.

YOU’RE WELCOME.

2) Jamie the Very Worst Missionary
Her Christmas tree fell over, which seemed indicative of her personal feelings this season. This resonated with me, because it just might be time that we allow people to feel what they feel, particularly during the Christmas season. Everyone is not over the proverbial moon because it’s Christmas, and maybe instead of commanding them to buck up and stop being a drag, we need to honor them enough to respect their emotions and walk through the season with them.
By “walk through the season with them”, I mean being camly supportive.
I do NOT mean constantly shouting various scriptures at them.
STOP. IT. NOW.

3) Powerpuff Doctors, anyone?

Can we talk about how adorable Capaldi is?
Yes, he’s adorable in real life, but I’m referring to the sweet little Powerpuff with HUGE, HUGE EYES.
Check out the article on The Mary Sue… because there’s a War Doctor Powerpuff… with a goatee.

Now, In the middle of writing this, I had to run to the post office. I promptly lost the PO Box keys the second I got out of the car, forcing me to kneel in a wet, disgusting, public parking lot to look under the car… I PUT MY HAND IN SOMETHING STICKY, moved the car seats back and forth, drove back to my office, stomped inside, re-searched my purse, looked through my desk, FINALLY WASHED THE STICKINESS OFF OF MY HAND, stomped back out to my car, and finally located the keys in a random cup holder that I suppose they must have fallen into, but I would have appreciated finding them BEFORE I PUT MY HAND IN A STICKY SOMETHING IN A GOVERNMENT PARKING LOT, THANKS
This week has been like those suspicious chocolates that taste okay on the outside and give way to something chewy and gross on the inside.
This week has not been great.
That’s okay. I’m not doing Christmas wrong because I can’t seem to unclench my jaw right now.
Joy is not about never wanting to punch a week, or a day, or a neighbor, or the maintenance guy at your apartment complex who LIED about fixing your washer in the face.
Maybe joy is the bedrock underneath all of those moments that allows you to acknowledge them and let go of them, realizing that being really, horrendously embarrassed in public is not a life-ending situation, and the fact that your trifle declared mutiny is not going to ruin your Christmas.

Maybe joy is what lets us get over the bad things and refocus on the good things.
Things like Powerpuff Capaldi.

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