The holidays are over, shopping and wrapping done, decorations up, decorations down, gifts returned to the stores for cash to pay the electric bill for the decorations, greeting cards sent, Bing Crosby singing "White Christmas" until you puke, cooking and cleaning, relatives and their bratty kids (who found all the shit you stashed under the bed while cleaning), putting up the tree, taking down the tree, office parties, cocktail parties, sneaking a nip or two in the closet and the pantry, smiling for an entire month—-boy oh boy was it fun!
But now that your adrenalin level has returned to low, you're pooped. Dragging ass. Bummed out. You feel, and look like, crap. You manage to make it out of bed, only to collapse on the couch. And then you can't get out of couch. You can't do a thing with your hair—not only on your head, but everywhere.
In truth, you feel exactly like the rag rug by the front door or on the mud porch, the one everybody wiped their filthy boots, shoes, and flip-flops on.
Don't worry, though, because you have almost eleven months to recover before the fun starts all over again . . .