That's all I ask for. Or is it? Looking and yet not looking forward to December, with all its jolly festivities. Maybe all I seek is shelter in a little wooden cabin, away from the bitter and biting frost of winter. Just me. And Richie. The world can go revel in its own merriness and golden sleighs for all I care.

Or am I decieving myself with this defiant cry of solitude?

Funny how little things fail to bother me these days. A said word here, a look of the eye there, all seem to slip off me more readily than before. Then again, it may all accumulate and when it's that time again... *BOOM*.