This morning, I started putting up Christmas decorations in the medical office where I work. It's a big area, so there are a lot of halls to deck. I didn't get it all done. I'll have to finish it up piecemeal during the rest of the week, which drives me a little bit crazy. Once I start a project, I don't want to stop until it's all done.
Of course, the other Christmas project that I still haven't finished is my Christmas essay. The essay's concept seemed simple enough, but it has ballooned into something weird and shapeless. A creative nonfiction mess, if you will. It has a little history, a little memoir, a little poetry. I think I'm getting close to the end, but I can't tell. It's sort of taken on a life of its own. My deadline is Friday at 1 p.m. That's when I have to record it for the radio station.
I want to ask Holden whether I'm going to finish this essay by Friday, but I'm afraid I'm going to get a typical Holden answer, full of cynicism and anger. I suppose I need to take my chances, though. Here goes:
Will I finish writing my Christmas essay by Friday at 1 p.m.?
And Holden says:
"Well, you little so-and-so. All right for you. Tell your big brother I hate him, when you see him."
That's Lillian Simmons talking to Holden. Lillian used to date D. B., Holden's big brother, and she's a little bit jealous of his success. D. B.'s in Hollywood at the moment, writing screenplays, and it drives Lillian crazy.
Jealousy over success. That means the essay's as good as done.
Saint Marty's gonna rest easy tonight.
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