Okay.  I’m back.

Now, maybe life can return to some semblance of normalcy (BOR-ing).

Or, maybe not.

It seems my days are filling up insanely fast, and for someone who’s not used to having any type of social calendar — or any type of calendar at all, I’m a little overwhelmed.

Some people are good at this.  When presented with large lists of to-dos and schedules and time frames, they immediately jump in — tackling the onslaught like taking a sledgehammer to a brick wall.

Others, like me, become paralyzed with indecision.

There are too many choices.  Where do I start?

My time is valuable, you know?  And I want to make the most of what I have.

Which is exactly why I opt out of Black Friday every year.

What?

You heard me.

Black Friday.  That horrendous day that used to be reserved solely for nursing tryptophan hangovers and detoxing the cranberry sauce from our systems and reflecting on the thanks we gave yesterday for all of the things we’re fortunate to have has somehow, via very deliberate media and marketing ploys, turned into a day of dragging our food-filled butts out of bed in the middle of the night to stand in line and then fight with perfect strangers over all of the things we still want.

Sure.

Makes perfect sense.

Of course, if you’re a Black Friday fanatic, I’m not going to change your mind.  You’ve heard it all before — it’s turned into a high-stress, competitive day of finagling and bargaining and deal-gettin’, the likes of which you only witness en masse but once per year, and you love it.

And there’s no way I’m going to convince you otherwise.

But.

For me, at least, beyond the traffic and the frenzy and the gimme gimme attitude, there’s a bigger reason why I opt out of Black Friday.

The deals aren’t worth it.

At least not for me.

And probably my definition of “cost” is different than your definition of “cost.”

What??  I could save 40% off a flat screen television?

Don’t care.

And 25% off a new washer and dryer?

Whatevs.

And if I buy one Magic Bullet with the complete accessory kit, they’ll throw in another identical bullet plus the kind that makes baby food in baby-sized portions for free?

Meh.

You see, it all comes down to what you perceive as a deal.

Bu– but– a deal is a DEAL, you say?

Not so much.

What if I did need a new dryer?  What if I really could save $200 off the ticket price if I woke up at 2 a.m., stood outside in the cold for 2 hours in a squishy line of tense people, rushed mob-style through the department store doors, dodging angry women with flying purses and pepper spray and competitive adrenaline, jumping over the bodies of those too weak to handle the pressure, pushing slow-moving children and the elderly out of my way like some maniacal greed-driven beast, jumping through the air and splaying my body across the last dryer in the store because it’s MINE, all MINE — and get-back-you-bitch-because-I-WILL-bite-you, and finally — finally — I get home with my new dryer.

And get this:  it only cost me $400, 6 hours of sleep, the flu from standing with germy people outside in the cold, 2 years off of my life from the stress of the ordeal, and, oh yeah, my dignity.

But at least I saved $200.

See my point?