December

Happy December everyone. It's cold, bleak, and grey! Good luck to you all, with hopes that you make it through the hard month. And think, next month is basically a continuation of this one, just in a different year. I do like the winter, not as much as the fall, but pretty good, nonetheless. It makes me wanna put on old, tattered grey robes, grow a long white and whispy goatee and become a monk or something. A wizened man, all robed and thin. Or maybe it makes me wanna stay indoors where it's warm (sometimes extremely warm) and dry, away from the harshness of December...

This is my December.

Goodbye, friends, and farewell to arms. Have a safe and pleasant season. It promises to be a fun one. And our tree looks better than yours. And our stockings. And our nativity scene. And our wreathes. And I'm really tired, having studied macroeconomics for a while, and open channel hydraulics, and I haven't been sleeping much lately, and sometimes, y'know, you just feel like writing something that is more stream-of-conscience, while at the same time continuing on with a very, very long (possibly a run-on (I LOVE PARENTHESIS!!!)) sentence.
Rest in peace, Reginald. Your children are prospering, and Horatio has given birth itself, so now there are many, many of you. There'll possibly be more on this later. For now, I think I'll bite the bullet (trite) and hit the books (cliche).

Rosebud.