It Could Be Worse

I'm trying, really trying, to keep moving and not feel stressed during this Christmas season. It's a stretch for someone that goes around wondering why people are staring before I remember that I've not brushed my hair yet today and it's sticking up like I've been licked by a reindeer. Still, I've maintained my cool, and even went to a few holiday activities.

William is on hyperdrive, constantly asking questions and wanting "someone to play with me". When I replied that I had a lot to do for Christmas, he responded in a way that shows he'll grow up to be a normal male: "What is there to do? Santa does everything." He'll be in time-out for about a week.

This morning, I got to test my old engineering trouble-shooting skills in tracking down a water leak inside the house that flooded the garage and the closet where I hide all the Christmas presents. Luckily, I'm such a procrastinator, there wasn't much in there. See? That's a positive!

And, it could be worse. I could:

• Be trapped in a toilet for four days
• Have a job measuring kangaroo farts
• Have George Bush give out my phone number on national TV by mistake
• Be a total nut case

Okay, okay, the last one I may already be.