…I’ll write. Something. I’ve been really focused on studying this week; I finished two finals, and already have one mark in. I have one final left to write on Tuesday; the philosophy class about Hannah Arendt. I have one paper to revise and hand in for my honours thesis. I have some last minute shopping to do. (I like to wait until the last minute because there’s some sort of thrill in rushing–perhaps the adrenalin rush is what I crave–the thrill of simply making snap decisions). I have to finish cleaning the house, as I got sidetracked by studying, and I must wander the halls of the liquor store in search of free gifts (attached to the bottles of booze–I’m such a sucker for the “free” gifts–they make great stocking stuffers!) I must take a picture of the tree, as it looks pretty good this year; the tree is almost 9 feet and has its own santa-belly.

I’ve been reading (on the sly of course, because I’m supposed to be studying) Aberrant Lounges by kimmy beach, a wonderful little book, and on stealing lips by Lars Palm–which I’ve only skimmed so far. I read another good Martian Press chapbook this summer: acts of barbarity and vandalism by Daniel Tysdal.

I’m looking forward to visits from people I haven’t seen in a long time. I’m looking forward to reading the stacks of books I’ve accumulated this fall. I’m looking forward to standing under the crisp curtain of snow as I walk to the whitened-edge of the park. I’m looking forward to way the snow holds itself to the bottom of the boot, flings itself into my hair, warms itself next to the skin of my chin, my cheek, and my nose. I’m looking forward to the shortest day of the year, in hopes that each one from there-on-in will broaden and widen with wonder, and maybe a little less wind (for some people).