Saint Stacey, Army of One

   I usually plan things out well. I went to a college where I knew I'd make the soccer team. I was engaged before I finished college- which was good, because I had planned most of the logistical aspects of the wedding out by the time I was 12 or so. We had the baby room finished before I was pregnant. We already own the retirement property. I'm always prepared.

   There is always a Yin to any particular Yang. My fatal flaw is Christmas. I have a habit that will kill me one day. I know other people who do it once, but I do it every year, without fail.

   I always put off my entire Christmas shopping list until the afternoon of December 24th.

   Sometimes, I have an excuse. I have to work, I have final exams, I'm babysitting, whatever whatever...This year, I have the flu and the Cru (Gabrielle and Melissa) to blame- but everyone who knows me would tell you that this would have made little overall alteration in my routine. I also get paid for my job at 6PM on December 23rd this year, but it wouldn't have mattered anyhow.

   A big part of the problem is my basic indecisiveness. I can never truly decide what I think people want. Even when I see something I think they'd like, I convince myself that I can find something better. Psychologists call this dissonance.... but that all gets tossed into the oven on 12/24. That's when I get to the mall with my bad self.

   The solution to indecisiveness is panic. Let's say you can't decide which way to go. You are standing, immobilized. Suddenly, a Komodo Dragon starts charging at you. You will move somewhere, instinctively. What keeps you from being killed is how you react in those kind of situations.

   As I head to the mall on Christmas Eve, I like to think of myself as Tom Brady, late in a game. Down a few points, out of time outs, calling my own plays, no huddle, etc....gotta make something happen. A lot of people are depending on me. It's a whole head trip I get into.

   I'm totally Favred on December 24th. Barking out commands amidst the chaos, breath bursting out of my chest in little ice clouds, snow falling.... as I yank a woman's head back by the ponytail while concurrently driving my knee into her kidney, enabling me to get the last remaining Rescue Heroes: Afghan Mountain Hell playset. I'm running amok, like I was just fired from the Post Office.

   I already have the babysitter lined up, and I have about a 3 hour window of opportunity. That's more than enough. I once shopped for my whole family with $140 and a broken leg...and I got everyone done in 1 hour, and 15 minutes. On this particular stage, I whup ass like Van Damme.

   Not every display of prowess is performed in front of 70,000 bloodthirsty proletariat in a stadium named after a razor or a beer. Not every song gets a Grammy. Many deep thoughts hit walls in the consciousnesses of inarticulate people, or however you say that. People who are perfect for each other pass each other every day, neither with the gumption to initiate. The talents of the truly great often make it to TV, but not always. Few people get to personally see an Act of God at work.

   If you'd like to see one in action, get to the Independence Mall in Kingston, MA between 2-4PM, tomorrow. I may injure you trying to get to a particular scented candle.

 

And to all, a good night....