Dear
November,
It’s been a
few days and for that, I am sorry.
Between finish up work for my time off, my birthday and spending time
with my family or catching up with friends, I’ve lost track of the time…
Ok, fine,
most of today has been spent playing on my Xbox, but I’m writing to you now, November. You aren’t cross with me are you? I didn’t think so.
It’s been a
strange few days. Or maybe I’ve been
strange over the last few days. I don’t
feel like I’m lacking in enthusiasm so much as … content with not having
any? Does that even make sense? I’ve been excited about being off work – who wouldn’t
be? – and I’ve enjoyed seeing my family, speaking to a dear friend who I’d
fallen out of touch with on the phone, even getting a very early Christmas
present. But somehow, I feel very out of
sorts. Maybe even so far as to say
lost? I don’t really know what to do
with myself. I know I could (even should)
have been writing to you or keeping up with my NaNoWriMo, but I’ve not wanted
to.
I think that
it’s obvious why… At least it is to me.
Is it to you, November?
I’m going to
do some writing with a cup of tea now.
It feels like the right thing to do, even though in truth, I don’t
want. That usually means the best thing
for me to do is to get on and do it, no matter how much I don’t want to…
I’ll speak
to you tomorrow – promise.
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