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Christmas

I decided today that I like Christmas well enough. It proves a great challenge, and it is good to face an onslaught of stress. I must fend off rampant materialism and disgust for the Christmas corporate entity. I must think very seriously, just this once, of how to be meaningful to those I love and disregard whatever is not meaningful.

I omitted a tier from our Christmas tree and it is much lovelier and less obtrusive. This afternoon I began scanning pictures to enclose in our relatives' Christmas cards. A trip to Hobby Lobby is in order for them and me.

Then I have gifts to wrap and more to buy, and cards to mail. I think with each year this will get easier. The thought of having a child now suggests more entropy than I can even imagine.

It is almost an hour till lunch and I am so glad. The night has gone somewhat quickly, and I am hungry. I have a book to read and some things to try out with audioblogging, in my office. I had some pink bows left from my Christmas tree long, long ago and they adorned my little gold tree very nicely. It all looks very classy and festive in my dorm-looking office. I have had little opportunity to go up there as of late since I have had little need to be secretive in my activities, since I am writing so much at home now. My numerous Christmas activities will be put aside till Friday as I work on Blanche, then The Siren. Both are near a finish. A Raven for a Lark has taught me that no matter how dispassionate I may feel about a story while writing, when I am done a feeling of that world lingers more strongly than ever.

Well my hands are hurting. I have been without Rose too long and am out of shape.

Sent from Amanda's Treo @-'-,--

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