Here I am. Here you are.
The end of November.
But it really feels like December. I have no idea how people in Portland manage. Or Seattle.
I live in Southern California and on these grey days I often crumble inside like wet tissue paper. I lose my vitality. I've often wondered what it is like to be a person who floats on the water with a steady even keel. I am the leaf. I am the droplet.
I am influenced by the raging 13 year old who lives with me. I am bombarded by the dogs, the cats, the people, the television. Not every single day is like this but some are.
Today my grandmother is being buried and here I sit across the country in my stupid squeaky chair next to a sizzling air filter that is taunting me. The hard drive fan is so loud.
I think I should go for a walk. It feels too much like December.