November never existed. After October 31st came December 1st. Scheduling error. “Sorry, there’s no November in 2015.”
November wasn’t a bad month. I wrote 27 pages on my thesis, finished two short stories and two art pieces, finished a large project at work and started new ones, and started applying for jobs.
Nevertheless it feels like October was only a minute ago and that December came all too soon and without warning.
I’m…remarkably okay, given the season. It’s wet and rainy, sure, but I feel like there’s been more sunny days than usual, on average. For a moment there, we even had snow and a touch of frost.
There are so many things I want to talk about. So many things I want to share. So many things I want to do.
My flat smells of cloves and clementines and I have a dystopian YA novel knocking about in my head, as well as an adult novel about a ballet dancer and his critic husband.
I happen to know approximately as much about ballet as I do moon colonies, which is close to nothing. Writing scathing reviews, however, is a talent of mine. As is coming up with strange teenagers.
The next ten days are filled with nice dresses, lovely company, a little too much alcohol, and small children. December is upon me.