12.10.02 - 11:40 a.m.

Can we just say I'm having a bad December and be done with it? I mean, really. What good is there rehashing it when I have a bad enough stomachache already? It's a constant feeling that I might burst into tears at any moment, punctuated by brief moments of contentment.

For instance, we have a great Christmas tree. Not just a good tree, but the perfect size of full green shrub to fit in our living room and twinkle happily for a few weeks. So Sunday evening we decorate it and sit around, watching a profoundly disturbing episode of The Sopranos but the tree is quite serene just the same.

Until I come home yesterday and it's on the floor like I've come across the crime scene of a tree whacking. So now it's tied to the window chains and I have to worry every day not only if the tree is getting enough water and is it going to spontaneously combust, but will it FALL OVER and THEN spontaneously combust?

I have to worry. It's in my nature to be worryful and on edge.

And as for the Sopranos finale -- well, imagine if your parents had a home movie of their divorce. I just don't want to think about it, or think about anything. Or talk about anything. I'm tired of being the only one who does the right thing.