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12/18/2004: "Wipe Out"

None of it is really getting done. I have mailed Christmas cards to thirty-five strangers (well, mostly strangers) but I haven't sent any to my analog friends and relatives. I may have gotten some rummage to give away as gifts, but I'm not sure who is getting any of it or how I'm getting it to them. I'm managing to write some nonsense here every day, but the stuff I'm saying isn't always proofread, ("moke"?). It occurs to me two days later that when she asked me, I should have told her I was there to see her, which was closer to the truth than the excuse I was giving. Christmas will be mostly over in a week. I'm not ready. And I really don't care that much. I tell people these looming, scary events are like big sets for surfers: the waves are coming, they're taking you with them. You can either resist, panic, and be destroyed; or assent, cooperate, and enjoy the ride. And be destroyed.

I guess it's time to start paddling.