What day is it? What planet am I on? Who am I?

All these things ran through my mind as I woke up Tuesday morning and attempted, in vain, to shake off the post-Christmas sluggishness and ready my mind for a week of work before the next holiday.

Christmas, as is the case with most things in which a 2-year-old is involved, flew by in a flurry of boxes, bows, wrapping-papercuts, calories and squeals of delight. Thanks to my mother’s habit of Southern homestyle cooking, I’m pretty sure the sleep in my eyes yesterday morning was actually cinnamon sugar. I wasn’t sweating under my poof-ball hat — that was merely the excess Crisco leaving my body.

And somehow, on a slightly smaller scale, I’m expected to recover and be merry one more time this weekend, “For Auld Lang Syne.”

I’ve always been puzzled by this midweek lull in between the holidays, wherein it’s not clear what our purpose is in terms of contributing to society or, simply, doing much more than reheating leftover honey ham.

Are we expected to waste away this interim period, like bears in hibernation waiting to wake up on New Year’s Day as improved people? Do we shirk responsibilities with the classic “Let’s circle back after the holidays” email diversion, with dozens of responses flooding your inbox come Jan. 2?

I suppose the better use of our time in this post-Christmas pause would be to solemnly reflect on the year, our shortcomings and where we might improve, as though New Year’s Day will dawn and we’ll be freed from our bad habits. Maybe, like me, you’ll take one look at your overstuffed home (if you can see around your overstuffed plate) and decide to give this minimalism thing a try.

Surely, the concept can’t be all bad — at least, it can’t be as bad as the 14 piles of trinkets and toys scattered throughout the home. I swear children’s toys are like gray hairs. Every time one disappears, another six show up in its place.

As for me, I plan to wipe the beads of Crisco-coated sweat from my brow, conquer the dishevelment that is the toy situation at our home and attempt to set a chain of short-term goals instead of one big, unobtainable resolution that’ll have the word “FAILURE” inscribed on my forehead by the end of the month.

Oh, and I might try to get a few newspapers out to our readers as well.

It’s my hope that no matter your resolution or state of subconscious rest or frenzy over the upcoming year, you find fortune and happiness — or at least, the motivation to look at the calendar between now and Saturday night.