a little bit of summertime amongst all this joyous snow that falls

I love December. Good things happen in December. There are pretty lights, the smell of pine and smoke from my living room fire which makes me remember summer, and camping. I don't really know what I can say. I feel rather cut off from all of you. I've been writing lots, and painting lots (perhaps more than is healthy), not reading nearly enough, and stressing as I'm sure you all are as well. Stress. Such a simple concept BUT SO DIFFICULT TO COPE WITH WHEN YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR SKETCHBOOK. Don't you hate, that as soon as you start to feel stable and knowing of yourself, you blink and you're suddenly a different person living a different life? Perhaps it's not a bad thing. Just scary. Terrifying, actually. I re-read one of my old notebooks from the summertime, and I couldn't help but chuckle at my over-dramatic self. However, that sleepover at Sycorax's in August, it really was just such a wonderful time. "WIDE AWAKE AND LYING IN A STREETCAR FULL OF CATS". Sometimes I think about why it was a wonderful time. And I don't know. It just was. Good company, good music, and just the right amount of laughter, I think. There are many other things I remember from the summer, all documented on film that I have yet to develop. Out of fear? I don't think so, because I miss my cottage terribly and I miss the constant birdsong and I miss waking up and eating fruit salad with my grandpa and I miss the lake so much it's like I have misplaced an organ. The waves were so beautiful on windy days, walking down on the rocks and finding fox skulls and delicate pink stones and rather crude rocks the size of elephants (literally). I remember how distressful it was to ride my bike along the road, and there being so many dragonflies that in the wheels of the bike were dozens of fragile, broken bodies. I will not ever forget the feeling of driving back up to my house and not feeling relieved at all, rather, horrified at the sight of it because it no longer felt like a home. Strange. I think the only real home we have is inside of us. Corny. BUT IT'S DA TRUTH U GUISE~