There are no cookies this Christmas.

There is no tree.

There are only presents because of last-minute-guilt, remote shopping, and insane wrapping at midnight.

Do Rappers have this problem when they write songs? I wonder.

We do not travel to see the lights.

Instead I huddle at home, being a giant lump of coal with a couch instead of a stocking.

Because my tongue hurts. All the time.

My tongue has hurt for over three months now.

I keep eliminating things:

Thinking I had OAS, I stopped eating foods that hurt me. (Oral Allergy Syndome–I thought tomatoes hated me.)

I change a mouth guard, thinking it might have latex.

I stop two new medications–one of which does have associated neuropathy of the tongue as a rare side effect–it’s week three now and I am thinking that isn’t the problem.

Last night, I tried taping my mouth shut only to bite myself in my sleep. (Okay, those of you laughing your asses off, I know what you are thinking, just stop.)

I still have a tongue that feels burned most of the time. I’ve been eating my weight in yogurt–which is sort of a cyclical nightmare. The more I eat, the more I bite myself and hurt my face two ways.

I am now blaming the CPAP. It’s the only thing I haven’t stopped doing. Basically, I have dry mouth from too much air. AIR IS HURTING ME. That has to be the definition of getting old.

My friend is helping me to try and change settings, but if we can’t fix why my tongue feels like a burnt offering, I don’t know what I am going to do.

So, for those of you who have wondered at my absence–and more particularly lack of holiday cheer–there are reasons beyond the usual.

“I’m just a crabby, crabby girl in a blistered-tongue world. Tryin’ to find a reason to celebrate the season!”

I might need to write a rap about that…all I need is a white-girl rapper name. Make your suggestions. I could use a laugh.

P.S. At one point, I had thrush. Let’s not mention the two weeks of drinking Nystatin oral fungal medication–the same ingredient to treat athlete’s foot. Everything tasted like tinfoil and it felt like my tongue was an insert from an old sneaker. Let’s just agree this never happened, shall we? Kind of my approach the 2025 in general–denial and a whole lot of useless salves to cover the wounds and hoping it will all just go away on its own.

P.P.S. Happy New Year everybody.