12/12/06

I'm at The Plaza Cafe where it's too hot as usual. I imagine it's a combination of these out-of-control steam heat radiators and the grill—of course it is hot. I came here impulsively—on my way to the office, early—impulsively—a rain-soaked morning—though not raining, yet—it will be!

The date, December 12, strikes me as a significant one, though it probably isn't—no more significant than all the others one might feel that way about for no reason—I mean personally. I could look at old notebooks, old calendars (which I keep). I could do that as sort of a project—go back and look at December Twelves as far back as I have notebooks and journals and calendars—see if there really is any significance. But I don't think I will. Thus, this is a new project, started, ended, all in this paragraph!

How much time I've saved myself! Though, now, thinking about it, I suddenly suspect that something is up! What if I looked at the past December Twelves and realized that on EACH ONE I had the idea of looking back on past December Twelves and seeing what I did—but in each case I decided against it! How would I ever find out? And how would I ever escape from this cycle?