You're Kidding Me, Right?

I have been up all. Freaking. Night. It's now six in the morning, and apparently I'm up for the day. Merry freaking Christmas. This is actually the first time I've ever stayed up all night, and trust me, it's not fun. I guess maybe it's fun when you're trying, but it's not that great when you're lying there with a pillow over your face, praying for even a half hour of sleep. I tried everything. I put my iPod on repeat and listened to Don't Tell Mama for about an hour and a half. I now officially hate that song. I prayed the Rosary. Somewhere around four, I watched Little Manhattan. I got bored of that by four thirty, and started reading The Nanny Diaries. At five, I went downstairs and half-heartedly pawed through my presents. They all look perfectly marvelous, but none of them look or feel like tickets to August: Osage County, and that is slightly disappointing. I tried to sleep on the couch. At five thirty, I went back upstairs and lay there crying, craving sleep like Sally Bowles craves opium-filled cigarettes and destructive relationships. I gave up at six, at which time I got up, put up my hair, and sat on the bed with my laptop, which is where I am now. In a half hour or so, the rabid little children of the world will rush for their presents, and, if I haven't passed out by then, I will join them. Already I feel a monster headache setting in, so I am headed downstairs for an Advil and the cream puffs I put in the freezer last night. (And frozen cream puffs are freaking delicious.) I hope you all slept better than I did. Merry Christmas to all and to all shut the hell up.