The 12 Panic Attacks of Christmas: A Series

Ugh, the holidays. Rapidly approaching, already bringing with them mild indigestion and fitful sleep. I hate the holidays, as awful as that sounds, but I think, for good reason. I don't hate the holidays because of what they represent. I am all for giving thanks for my abundant life, celebrating the birth of Jesus, ringing in another glorious year. Yes, I may be a Grinch, but I am certainly no sociopath.  

It all comes down to this: I hate the holidays because of the anxiety they produce. And unlike all you roller coaster fanatics, I really don't care for the taste of vomit in the back of my throat, and white-knuckle, stomach-dropping fear. 

So in my effort to confront my neuroses head on, I am introducing a series of blog posts, entitled, "The 12 Panic Attacks of Christmas". Sure, there are probably more than 12 issues associated with the holidays that induce panic within, but I'll try to stick with the biggies. And give me credit for trying to be festive in my kvetching. 

My plan is to intersperse my 12 panic attack posts throughout the holiday season, just to keep you jolly souls grounded in reality. And maybe if all goes according to plan, before we hit #12, I will somehow be miraculously cured and by the time Christmas rolls around, I'll be baking cookies and playing Scrabble with hateful relatives with the best of 'em.

So feel free to commiserate, judge, or console. I totally get that there will be some of you that think I am out of my mind and others will be saying, "Amen, sister". But I just have to give this a try, because I have faith in this blogging process and I know I am going to learn a lot (or become an isolated pariah).

First up, Turducken. If you don't know what I am talking about, look it up and be ready to help.