Why do I do this to myself? Why, sweet spaghetti monster, why?
After last year’s Yuletide fiber marathon I swore I wouldn’t over-commit myself again. There’s no need to make homemade gifts for every soul on my list. Not only is it ok to buy gifts for my family members (so long as they are suitably thoughtful), it’s also ok to buy gifts for my co-workers. Two years in a row of giving knitted cotton dish cloths to the whole cubicle row does not necessitate a yearly tradition.
Really, it doesn’t.
Why do I feel so guilty?
Why did I see a sudden flash of Christ in a cabled cardigan gazing at me with ill-concealed impatience?