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2007-11-29 - 1:27 p.m.

I think the radio said something about how the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center is going to be made into doors when this is all over. When the holiday season is all over. That's feasible, but then I also think the radio said that the doors would be distributed to homes all over the world, so I must have misheard something. It's Christmas now, there's a tree in the lobby, I saw a commercial for the Charlie Brown Christmas special the other day, I think I heard on the news when I was half asleep that it may have snowed somewhere. I already have a gift for my mother. I'm already worried about New Year's. It's Christmas.

It's Christmas, and I am a Scrooge! I don't like anyone except for Bees and Jackpot. I don't have any room in my heart. I love places and ideas more than people. I mean, I need people, I guess, and physical contact, I mean, I am alive, but deep down in my heart I get more sentimental about that tree at the end of my block than I ever have about a person. I don't know if any person has ever made me feel better than walking past the Verizon building when the birds are circling in giant swoops over the intersection there. I don't even know.

Anyway, I had an idea, and it's a good one and solid. I'm excited. The floor is being packed up and moved down to ten, and there is a thoroughly pleasant boxy sound all up and down the hall. Cardboard scraping against cardboard. There is an Irish man here, sitting in corners, making constant phone calls; everything he says comes out in a soothe. We have not been introduced. I am wasting time while looking busy, listening to This American Life, taking dawdling trips to the bathroom mirror, trying out new ways of wearing my sweater, planning a haircut. How can I do four more hours of this? I need more math to do.

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