here is a giant Christmas tree standing in the corner of my bedroom. Well, "standing" is not the word. At the beginning of January, when it ran out of water, it started tilting toward the wall. Now, it's pretty much decomposing. It's so droopy and sad and pathetic that it practically has a frowny face. Poor tree. Actually, I've grown quite fond of it.

The thing about the poor tree, the reason we have become so entwined, is that I can't carry it down the stairs by myself, and I keep forgetting to ask my friend Rose for help. When I do remember, it's the wrong time -- when I'm at work, or on the subway, or when it's nowhere near trash day, which is critical, because I can't just leave the tree languishing for days on the curb. What would my neighbors think? This fear of mortification -- this fear of being found out -- has kept the tree safely ensconced in my room, my little secret, where it has been for two months. By the way, my room smells wonderful. Sometimes, when I'm passing by, I reach out and crunch the pine needles, letting them crumble in my hand and fall to the ground. The pine needles get crushed under my feet eventually, turn to a pale green powder that scatters across the floor.

"It's like the circle of life in the corner of your bedroom," my boyfriend told me the other day. He's right. Sometimes I feel like this is the world's most ambitious compost pile.

I told Rose that we absolutely, positively had to take the tree out this Tuesday night. Then, on Tuesday morning, I heard the garbage truck beep to a stop outside as I was getting ready for work. Dammit. How am I supposed to remember what day is trash day?

All of this is a way to explain, I suppose, why I haven't posted on this site for a while. I haven't mentioned, for instance, that I wrote a story for Salon about my credit card debt. I haven't really mentioned my credit card debt either, although someone very clever could probably find some connection between my mounting debt and the tree in the corner of my room.

"I'll take it down for you when I come visit," my boyfriend told me. He's coming at the end of February.

"It won't be here then!" I say defensively.

"Okay, that's fine," he said. "I'll take it down."