42 Dreams of Arizona Bay

My Christmas spirit is beginning to revive, just a little bit, as the date nears. I will ignore the blood-curdling incident at Best Buy yesterday, and say that I almost can tolerate Christmas right now.
My dad and family sent a package full of wrapped presents. I could accidentally let one of the cats open them (and they legitimately have tried), but then my conscience will get the better of me.
I got invited to a co-worker’s family’s house for dinner; a different co-worker than the one that adopted me for Thanksgiving. It’s nice to be thought of. And maybe that’s why I’m not quite as grumbly right now.

I was actually starting to get a bit sad, missing my family a little more by this point. I was struggling with the choice of making dinner or being totally lazy and not.
As it stands, I still only have to work five hours on Christmas, and before that, I’ll have presents to open in my pajamas, even if I’m 2,300 miles away from the people who sent them. And I’ll have a loud family dinner, just not cooked by my dad and me. The drawback being I can’t go pass out on the guest bed afterward.
And then after work, I get to go home around 9 p.m., to watch whatever’s left of the weird marathons cable networks are so fond of.
Still going to be sad to miss the present unwrapping, or the fighting with my brother to get him to sit for the traditional Christmas tree picture.
Going to miss his kids unwrapping their presents. Going to miss jockeying for a spot in front of the fireplace with some eggnog.
Going to miss the mounds of wrapping paper piled around us as more presents are passed out, and the overflowing tree.
Going to miss being home.