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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking that after mailing one final Christmas card last week, I'm pretty sure I'm done with Christmas for 2007. At least I am unless someone else who didn't a card complains, which is why I ended up mailing one more than two weeks after Christmas was over.

This last Christmas was a rushed affair, and I did my cards in a hurry. As I went through my address list, I got to the name of one of my father's neighbors and decided not to bother with them this year. Mrs. Isaacs is a little agoraphobic, and rarely ventures outside of her front yard; I haven't seen her in years. I can't tell you what Mr. Isaacs even looks like. I knew them as a child, but not very well. They are just the couple across the street and three houses down from my father's house. I couldn't recall if I even get a Christmas card back from them most years. I figured they wouldn't notice if they didn't get one from me this time around.

Mrs. Isaacs most certainly did notice, and she confronted my father about it as he took his daily walk past her house.

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Today on my drive into work, I was thinking about writer's block.

God, I hate writer's block.

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