I skipped work today, mostly because I can, but ostensibly to finish stuff up Christmas-wise. I have failed thus far. Instead, I have slept, read other people’s blogs, tracked packages, fixed printer settings, and now I am writing this bullshit.

Writing about procrastinating epitomizes something profound and lazy, I’m sure.

I don’t know if my last minute, desparate idea for my oldest brother, a shortwave radio, is a good one. But there are plenty in stock at SharperImage. He’s a tinkerer, and likes to keep up with the news, so it’s possibly not a bad idea.

That final present is not bought, but I can get it before I go to his house. Nothing is wrapped. And, yesterday, I forgot to put something in each of M.’s and my sister’s packages. Without overnight delivery, I would have no hope of ever getting even the most simple note mailed at all. Going to the post office is like a quaint relic, when you also put off various problems until Spring when the dentist/surgeon and the judge would pass through your area. UPS owes me for my procrastinating ways, as it profits only them.

I have done no baking for this holiday. I don’t feel guilty so much as disappointed. Among the reasons to bake is to reap the culinary reward. One thing I miss about my mom on the hollidays is her dedication to meal preparation. While she was alive the meal was the holiday, and it was easier to make sure that I added to the meal. Now, it seems so much less important, and so I do very little and slowly forget how good fresh baked bread is.