... and I'm so unprepared.
I have gifts still to buy which either means facing the Oxford Street hordes in the weekend before Christmas, or waiting till Christmas Eve and trying to buy them in Victoria. I don't even know what I want to buy, which makes it even more difficult.
I still haven't sent my Christmas cards, which means that they'll either be late, or really early for next year.
I still haven't sent the work Christmas cards, which means I have to do it on the sly on Monday to make sure I don't get busted. It seemed really important to order them about six weeks ago. I can't remember why that was now.
I have to do my laundry (stupid laundrette) in order to be able to pack to go home for Christmas. Of course, when I say "home" I mean my parent's home. I don't have a Canadian home anymore.
I have to try and figure out how I'm going to see thirty people in the three days I have in Toronto. I'm sure I can do it. It may be done through a drunken haze, but it will get done.
I have to move three days after I get back from Canada. Assuming that I'm "approved" by the estate agents.
Oh, and I have to pack up my flat. How long can that take? An hour? Two? Okay, three at the max.
I have to buy a timer for my heater so that my poor fishes don't freeze for the twelve days I'm not going to be in the country.
I have to make an extra set of keys so that Clare can feed my fish so that they don't starve during the twelve days I'm going to be out of the country. Cause you know what's not Christmassy? Dead fish.
Of course, I could, y'know, actually be doing things to get all this done. But I think we know that's not going to happen, don't we?
Ahh, Christmas. Good times, good times.