I've been spending numerous hours out of every day bugging over how much i hate November this year. I never really liked November that much before, but this year i strongly prayed every night that October would be followed by December. That was a complete and utter fail. Why must the love that awaits me take such fucking time?? As fall turns into winter i quite naturally morph into a homebody, preferring solace in literature, making pretty things, having long and delicious meals by the dinner table, cuddling in front the fire-place & falling in love with your words. What is this? It's beautiful. Bittersweet. Please December, hurry up. I need to be held. And by one only.