Friday the 13th seems like as good a day as any to begin my Christmas Wish List. After November is in the rear-view mirror, I’m going to deserve something delightful even if I have to buy it for myself. The Poem Cup is a good example. Piled next to it I’d like a ridiculous stack of Moleskine XL ruled cahiers – the color doesn’t matter, although I understand they make these in a festive holiday red now. Add a few dozen Parker gel ballpoint refills and I’ll be golden.

Can you tell I’m procrastinating?

Time to work on that novel. I’ll be thrilled when it’s finished, but right now I’m just as tired as everyone else. No matter. It’s imperative I stuff the NaNo word count before Monday. That’s when someone appears on Oprah hawking her new book and I’m already feeling a rant coming on. Can’t help it. She brings out the very worst in me.

You know, if I had that Poem Cup right now I might write faster and perhaps my hateful attitude toward someone would improve. I’d be a better person, you see, if I indulged a bit now instead of dangling this carrot another couple of weeks or so. With that cup on my desk I might actually get to heaven.

Well, enough of that. The only gift I receive tonight is in writing the scene where the mini-van mamas abscond with a tractor trailer full of feminine products and baby wipes. I’ve saved this gem for a moment just like tonight – it should perk me up considerably, with or without a fancy teacup.

No more procrastinating. Time to gas up these mini-vans and hit the road.