STRANGER THAN FICTION: NO VISIONS OF SUGAR PLUMS DANCING IN THIS HEAD

Our Bag O' Christmas has been emptied for another year, its contents strewn about our home in as tasteful a manner as possible.

I think one's feelings on the holiday season are dictated by one's upbringing. My parents didn't think much of it. As a result, every bit of our Christmas decor can -- and does -- fit into a trash bag, and we wouldn't have that much if it weren't for The Other Half.

We have a two-foot-high tree that goes on top of our entertainment center. We have three stockings that get taped to the staircase -- one for him, one for me and one for our kitties. And we have a wreath that has been crushed between the front door and the storm door for several years.

Most folks love this time of year. I want to join them. I really do, but then I get out my checkbook, look at the balance and start thinking of friends and relatives in terms of their cash value.

Take Jo, for instance. I spent $30 on her going-away present, so $10 ought to be plenty for Christmas, right? And making my new friend at work, Bobby, means buying an extra Christmas present. But I should be able to make up for that out of the money I'll save due to my falling out with Ben.

It's pitiful. In the meantime, Mr. Half is plopping down $20 here, $30 there. "It's Christmas," he says. "You shouldn't worry about money!"

This from the man who bought me a Dilbert calendar last year.

If you put the whole religious aspect aside, which most people do, Christmas ends up being a time to trample a grandmother to get the last Furby.

So no wonder I don't have visions of sugar plums dancing in my head when I go to sleep. The stress of buying appropriate gifts for people and still having enough money left over for cat food is getting to be too much for me. And I'm having bad dreams almost every night.

I think all these dreams could reflect subconscious fears in my life -- fears magnified by recent stress. For example, researchers say many people dream about being naked in a public place. That means they feel vulnerable.

Try these interpretations on for size.

1. I am conducting an interview with two important dignitaries. It is for a newspaper article set to run the next day. I look down to make some notes and realize I'm wearing shoes, pantyhose and a skirt but am completely undressed from the waist up. I remember that I'd decided not to wear a top to work that day, but I'm rethinking my decision. The dignitaries continue giving the interview as though they don't notice. As I go about my business of the day, nobody comments on my outfit at all.

INTERPRETATION: I fear that my breasts are so small in relation to my butt, I could walk around topless and nobody would notice.

2. A friend of mine at the newspaper approaches me. He's wearing bib overalls and a straw hat. He asks to borrow money. I reach into my wallet to pull out a few bucks, but the money is in funky denominations -- a $23 bill, a $55 bill and the like. I finally reach in a pull out a $5, but I don't want to give it away because I don't know when I'll get any more money.

INTERPRETATION: As long as I stay in the newspaper business, I'll never have any "real" money.

3. I'm at the mall, and I walk past a mirror. I notice that I've put on enough makeup for five women. I'm wearing bright pink blush, and I've followed the white trash school of thought that it should go from the apple of the cheek, back to the ear and then up beside the eye and onto the forehead. I grab a tissue out of my purse and start rubbing for all I'm worth, but the blush won't come off. Neither will the globs of mascara or the bright blue eye shadow.

INTERPRETATION: I've been watching too much of The Trinity Network.

4. I'm pregnant and must have a car seat for my baby, but I'm unable to buy one. A friend offers a hand-me-down, which is covered in spilled apple juice, cookie crumbs and the like. I'm mortified.

INTERPRETATION: My complete fear of pregnancy continues.

I'm not sure what can be done about my scary nights. Maybe it will all end after the holidays are over and I've given everyone the perfect gift. Or maybe there's a more immediate solution to my holiday stress.

I'll go have a spiked eggnog right now.

~Heidi Nieland is a former staff writer for the Southeast Missourian who now lives in Pensacola, Fla.