I had plans with friends on Thursday night. I blew those plans off. Not typically my MO, but I did. And I did because I was tired.

Like, exhausted.

Like, having a hell of a time keeping my eyes open at 7 pm.

And so I told my friends that. When I talked to one of them on Friday, though, he expressed concern for my health. Okay, it’s good to know that I have a friend who worries about those kinds of thing related to me, but I realized, after we talked that his reasoning was flawed, but that the flaws were my fault. So here’s the deal….

Yes, I do say “I’m tired” a lot, particularly when I’m asked to do something in the evening, and whatever the activity is will take me an hour to an hour and a half longer than whoever’s asking because I have to drive 30-40 minutes each way. Or when it’s the weekend after a long week. Or when I’ve had another of my brushes with insomnia (which was the case this Thursday).

Sometimes it’s an excuse and it means, “I don’t feel like driving.” Sometimes it’s true, and means, “I’m about to physically fall over.” Sometimes, it can mean any number of things.

Most times, though, when I say that I’m tired, it has little to do with my physical state or a need for sleep. And it’s not just my excuse to blow someone off. It’s a plain and simple request for the extroverts of the world to indulge my introversion for a day or an evening. It means I don’t want to be around people. In fact, it often means that I’m tired…of being around people.

To be fair, people who encounter me first, or primarily, or only, at work come to know me as gregarious, as outgoing, as a guy with an easy smile and and infectious laugh. That, friends, is my professional persona. It’s who I am, at work. But it’s not, necessarily, who I am.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m much more that way than I ever used to be. Back in the days when I didn’t strap that identity on and venture into a classroom every day, I was much more introverted than I am now. Some of my professional smiley face, that is, has taken root.

But that’s still not me, not the core of me, most of the time. I’m still an introvert on the inside, and I still need time (more than most) to myself. Me-time, if you will; or, time alone.

As I said to start this off, I’m fortunate to have friends who care as much as they do. I’m also very fortunate to have a small number of people in my life that I can be around and still be having “me-time” — the former are a rare commodity, and the latter even rarer. I just want the former to know that it’s nothing personal that they’re not also the latter — I care about many of them and worry about them as much as they do me, but I still, to some extent, feel like I’m “on” when I’m around them.

So if I tell you that I’m tired, please don’t think I’m sick or maudlin or depressed. I just, sometimes, need some time alone. And please don’t take it personally that I need some time alone. Just as many of you are wired up to be outgoing and the life of the party by nature, and just as I’ve learned to be those things through long practice, there are times when my inner (and sometimes melancholy) wallflower needs to assert itself, and spend some time apart from the world and its people.

I’m okay. Really.

Anyway, I was reading some brain candy (after having finished the first Dresden book, Storm Front, earlier in the day), getting ready for some mindless British humor, and otherwise enjoying a quiet Saturday night in. But sometime between 9:00 and 9:30, I just couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer, and I have no clue why (well, not entirely true, but we’re going to go with it — those of you reading who know will know what I think).

I faded in and out of sleep on my couch for several hours after that. I remember, briefly, being awake during As Time Goes By (10:00-10:30), again during The Vicar of Dibley (11:00-11:30), and once more during the post-BritCom fare, Our Ohio (11:30-12:00). Sometime right around 12, I turned off the TV, became ever so briefly aware enough to put on my pjs and go to bed, in the bed. Around 3, I awoke to terrible cramping, the solution to which is best left no further described, and then went back to sleep. At which point I slept soundly until a little before 8 this morning.

So the last time I remember being truly awake was 9pm. The first time I remember being anything resembling functional was 8am. That’s 11 hours. I know I’ve had a full-blown, followed by a half-assed, cold since last Friday (Christmas day). I know that New Year’s and me just don’t get along. But 11 hours of sleep? Really? And I feel like I could take a nap now?

But there’s something else here, too, because though I was (granted, off-and-on) asleep for 11 hours, the word unconscious in the title of this post may be somewhat misleading, because I don’t think the processor in my brain switched off at all. While it was not at all “active sleep” in the traditional sense of tossing and turning and tearing up the bedclothes, to which I have been somewhat subject recently (either that, or as I’m becoming convinced, the sheets that are on the bed at the moment, just don’t fit quite right), my brain did not stop working.

But I’m not convinced that my active brain did anything good, either. Oftentimes, when my brain doesn’t turn off as I sleep (and I’m not talking about typical dreaming here, but the sort of dreaming which seems to last all night), I wake up raring to go, because — no matter how much I may or may not remember, apart from that I was chasing something all night long — my conscious mind seems to be…I don’t know, is reassured the word I’m looking for?…by the nocturnal exertions of my unconscious mind.

Not so, today. There is, it seems, still more work to do, and that bothers me, because it’s stealing my waking focus.

Which is annoying.

Very, very annoying.

If you’ve read here a while, you know that I’m not a strong proponent of the “Hallmark Holidays,” generally speaking. That comes and goes, and I can’t say that I actually dislike them, because they’re, honestly, easy enough to ignore when you want to; they simply are what they are, and there’s really nothing surrounding them to hate, at least from where I stand.

And those who know me know that I love Hallowe’en, I love the patriotic holidays (Memorial Day, Independence Day, Labor Day, Veterans’ Day), I have a profound respect for Thanksgiving, and it’s impossible for me not to get caught up in all that Christmas signifies.

But here’s another of those places where I’m a little weird: I hate New Year’s.

With a passion.

Do I have good reasons? Well, I think so, but as such things always go, I don’t know that I’m qualified to judge my own reasons behind this feeling; so often, after all, we’re not. But let me explain, and I’ll let you be the judge.

I trace the roots of my loathing to when I was a kid. These roots have much more to do with New Year’s Day than with New Year’s Eve, which is more the focus of my adult feelings, but I know I started hating the whole Eve/Day complex when I was a child. And it has to do with food. Think about it: Most holidays bring with them a veritable smorgasbord of good eats, from cookouts at the summer holidays to traditional Thanksgiving and Christmas fare, to candy on Hallowe’en, to (as an adult) green beer on St. Patrick’s Day. But what does New Year’s bring?

Sauerkraut.

Really? I’m not a huge fan of pickled anything — jalapeños come about the closest, though I’d still much rather have fresh. But pickled cabbage? Again, I ask: Really?

And the traditional kraut (along with, typically, pork roast cooked in the kraut) was de rigeur on New Year’s Day in my family growing up.

So that’s the root. I know, though, that sauerkraut alone is not reason enough to hate the holiday. Just duck the kraut and all’s well, right?

No, not really. Not so much. Because of the other things that this holiday visits upon us, at least upon me, that I don’t find festive at all.

First of all, it marks the passage of time. Okay, okay, I know I don’t hate my birthday, which is a much more personal marker of time’s passage. But that’s precisely because it is personal. New Year’s marks the impersonal passage of time: Time marches on, and all that. It does not, like a birthday, mark that time has passed for a specific person, but that time has passed for the whole world. When my birthday rolls around, in May, I can look at the year that has passed, and know that a year has passed for me. New Year’s reminds me, though, that a year has passed and would have done so with or without me. I know that I am small and largely insignificant, but I can do without the reminder. And the fact that a year has passed with little change in areas of my life where I cannot change things alone — well, that’s just no fun at all.

Second, it is the one time of year that encourages us all to pause, take stock, and reflect. To make resolutions about the things we want to change in our lives. This bothers me. I do this all the time, year-round, on a continual basis, and perhaps even too much. The past three-plus years, in particular, have been a time of pretty much non-stop reflection, growth, change, and (I think) improvement for me. As first 2008 and then 2009 dawned, I still, though, made resolutions. And I did well enough by them (no need to recap, because this is part of what I’m on about here). But I’ve spent so much time working on myself in those years, that I don’t feel any special need to pause, reflect, resolve on the 31st of December, anymore. As someone put it to me, about me, a week or so ago, “You know who you are, and you’re proud of who you are.” I’d never thought of it in quite those terms, but I suppose on the face of it, it’s true enough. Also, though, part of who I know myself to be and who I’m proud to be is a person who reflects, takes stock, and makes changes all the time. So I don’t want a day for that, particularly a day tied to the passage of time, on which it becomes apparent just how little difference all I do, and all I have done, all that I am proud of in myself, makes to anyone outside of me. I am, that is, happy with and proud of, though not complacent about, the changes I have made in my life — that’s within myself; outside of that, though, it’s clearly not yet change enough.

Finally, though, the whole thing just rings false to me. This New Year’s Day, this day of “new beginnings” or “positive change” is really just (this year) a Friday. Nothing really changes. I’ll be back in the office on Monday, doing the same job — no matter that it’s a job I love. I’ll be hanging out with the same group of friends on Sunday night — no matter that they’re all people I truly like. And my life will go on as it has for nearly 35 years: moving from one day to the next, looking at what’s going on around me, examining (in minute detail) everything that happens — that I say, that I do, that I am — believing, mostly, that it is good, and wondering if it is ever good enough. And receiving feedback that confirms both my belief and my fears, in pretty much all areas: Good? Yes, definitely. Good enough? Well…. Because it’s just a Friday, and nothing changes.

Well, maybe a few things change. Here’s the deal for me on 31 December 2009: No resolutions, and no bottle of bourbon. I need no resolutions for 2010, because my life and the way I choose to live it are an ongoing resolution, and one I am happy with my progress toward. And unlike the 31st of December in 2006, 2007, and 2008 (for the clearing out of recent memory and exorcising those particular ghosts), I realize this about my life. I may still decine all social invitations, because I’m — simply put — a big ball of no fun to be around on New Year’s, and I may still spend the evening with my PlayStation and/or the DVD player and my little grey roommate, and that’s probably best for all concerned. I will not, however, be getting smashed on Beam white label this year (or anything else). And I think there’s as much realization in that as in anything: Today, New Year’s Eve, and tomorrow, New Year’s Day, are each just another day. Days to get the laundry done, the trash taken out, the house cleaned, some work for the upcoming semester done. Days neither to be celebrated, nor to be lamented based on “newness” or the lack thereof.

Some things change. Some things don’t. What changes on January 1st is nothing more or less than what could change on any day of the year. That’s how it works; that’s what I’ve learned this year. And I don’t need to lament the snail’s pace of change that I would like to see, to let the arbitrary marker of change influence what I know, what I believe, and how I feel about myself. Things that I would and can change will happen as I make them; things that will change on their own due to outside events, my own desire and contribution, and the desire and efforts of others will happen as they do. January 1st is only a day; it is not, in itself, an agent of change.

Except when it comes to getting a new calendar.

Then, of course, we all loaded up and went our separate ways: Me back to Fremont, my sister and brother-in-law back to Nashville, and Mom, Dad, and the kids to Wooster where the kids are spending the week, as they do between Christmas and New Year’s every year.

It was a pleasant couple of days (except, of course, that the cold I got was NOT on my Christmas list).

Here’s the thing, though. My sister’s kids are growing up; they’re 12 and 10 now, in the 6th and 5th grades, and those are interesting ages, because they’re now pretty well along into developing their own personalities, likes, dislikes, quirks, twitches, and — most importantly for this story — senses of humor, which I’ll come back to.

This kind of makes me sad, because while I’ve been the one declaring loudly for the past year or so to anyone who would listen that they’re not little kids any more, I realized this past weekend that they’re fast turning into real people — real people whom I like, whom I love, but whom, because of time and distance, I don’t really know any more.

But it kind of made me happy, too, because of one gift I got from my sister’s family — a gift that my sister was quick to point out that the kids had picked out for me. This particular gift shows that the sense of humor — off-the-wall and outlandish as it may be — that our family pretty much shares is coming along quite nicely in the next generation. It was simple, and funny. Only a t-shirt from Wal-Mart, but it showcased the kids’ burgeoning awesomeness nonetheless. A picture of a mushroom with the caption, “I’m a Fun Guy!”

Yep, those kids are okay!

Lindsay writes:
…it’s that time of year, again. Yes, the time of year where there’s a holiday approaching called Christmas, where kids wake their parents up early and are obnoxious until they get to open their presents. The day kids await for weeks with baited breath.

Unfortunately, there are kids that aren’t as lucky. Kids that don’t get to jump on their parents’ bed until they begrudgingly get up; kids that are lucky if they have the strength to get out of their hospital bed.

Now, all you nerds with soft hearts can help, if you didn’t spend your last dollar and change on a 2-liter of Mountain Dew. I don’t like charities — unfortunately, donations to a great many charities often never reach the people you intended to help. However, there is one that is much, much different.

The nerds over at Penny Arcade run a drive every year called Child’s Play to get presents into the hands of kids in children’s hospitals across America and Canada, and even a few hospitals in the UK, New Zealand, and Australia. You can donate locally, or internationally — your choice. You can donate cash, or you can click the hospital you’d like to donate to, and it will redirect you to that hospital’s Amazon Wish List. You buy the stuff, Mike and Jerry from Penny Arcade help pay for the shipping, and sick kids smile on Christmas day. It’s not rocket science.

If you’re still feeling a bit leery of the idea of donating to a charity, here’s the “About” section of their site – go read about them for yourself. If you’re feeling charitable, send a book or a toy or a video game to a hospital. I’m not going to tag anyone specific in this note; I don’t care if you donate or not. But, if you want to donate, I’m telling you that this is the place.