I'm starving. Seriously starving.  I want some peanut butter so bad.  And I'm so tired.  Like I've been on "Survivor" for three days starving and tired.  I'm also bored senseless.  I've been staring at the Christmas tree, my brain reeling from competing arguments for leaving it up or taking it down. And although, as I've said, I'm incredibly bored, I've opted to continue to stare at it rather than take it down. I just don't have the energy.  I have no fuel.  Remember, I'm starving.Plus, if I'm correct, and I think I am, I can't take it down because a friend of mine reminded me that in Jesus' day the wisemen hadn't arrived yet.  In deference to them, I believe it would be unwise to take it down.  Get it?  Hahahahaha.  I told you... I'm like really bored.So up it stays.  It's dead as hell and has been for a few days now, but I've lost the will to water it.  And trust me, if I don't, no one else is ever willing to crawl under there to be stabbed in the head with the now very dry and painful needles in order to pour the water so that half of it gets on the floor and you have to crawl back out to go get paper towels to wipe it up because you forget to bring them every time even though this shit happens every time.Let's face it; it's the week after New Years and it sucks.  I want to go back to last week.  I want a beer with lunch to help wash down the fries.  I want to nap at around 3:00 to wake up for cocktails at precisely 5:30 with some cheese and crackers and those sweet honey roasted peanuts.  And maybe, just because I can, I'll have another cocktail before I eat dinner; a dinner that hopefully includes some type of potato product with extra butter and oh yeah, a roll.  A roll would be great.And then, there will be ice cream cake.  Chocolate chip mint ice cream cake, and gingerbread men and those homemade white chocolate peppermint bark things that the same wisemen story friend's daughter makes.  I love all of it and the best part is that I don't have to choose.  I can have cake and cookies and bark if I want.  And, oh how I want.  There will be games, and holiday movies and time spent with family.  The house is full, the hot water is always running low, the noise is deafening, the chaos is maddening, but it's awesome.  It's Christmas, after all, and the best gift we give ourselves is a week or two of guilt -free over indulgence; in food, in fun and in togetherness.  Damn...But now it's January 6.  No happiness, no jingle bells, no nostalgic Christmas music on the radio.  No butter, no ice cream, no tequila, no joy.  Your kids are either back at college and you miss them, or they are bored almost as senseless as you are and have taken their questions and needs to a new level of annoyance.  A mere week ago what was adorable and magical is now cloying and annoying.  And if I read one more thing about New Year's resolutions, or diet plans, or see an ad for a gym on TV, I'll scream.  Or just implode.There's nothing to look forward to.  There's just a dead tree, a fat ass, a short fuse, and starvation creeping in.  There's no good TV, unless you count "The Bachelor," which I'm ashamed to admit, I definitely count. It's depraved, I know, but what else is there?  If I can't have butter, or bread, or booze, or bark, what's a girl to do? I'll get my fix anyplace I can, and sorry, I'm not sorry.  Soon, I'll have to figure out which series I'll binge watch for the month of February to get me through that month in NJ, but for now, "The Bachelor" is my bread and butter.  Literally...I swear, though, really, I am rational. I know all good things must come to an end. At some point, you find yourself alone in the now depressing -looking without the decorations house, the booze and the food has taken it's toll and the treadmill that has been hidden in the family room behind the boxes, the trimmings and a good two weeks worth of dust, will have to be plugged back in. But no one says I have to be happy about it.By next week, I'll be better.  I will have chewed my arm off, in the effort to stave off the starvation, but maybe one of the fat rolls under my armpits that is seriously threatening my having to up my bra size for all the wrong reasons, will be beaten into retreat.  And, don't worry, I'll eat ice cream and butter again, someday, and I can wait until Friday to have a beer.  Just think how much better it will taste for the hard work I've put in waiting for it.   I'll be fine; I promise.  I always am.  But I hate January.  We really should ban it.How do you plan to get through?