I slept through the evening, on the living room floor, rehearsing my dissappearance from the reality, so when it was time to actually sleep, it was time for me to lie awake. Light seeped through the window blinds but in the backlight I could not see if V was awake or not, I could not make out what was between his temple and the tip of his nose, if the occasional glimmer was his eyelids parting or just the light sneaking its way to the corner of his eye. I guess you already know how this goes. Staring at things in the dark never ends well. V's eyes began to leak darkness that spread all over his face and I had to turn away because it was scaring me a bit.

When I fell asleep my spool of gold thread fell into the snow. I find this deeply metaphorical. Of what, I don't know.

A discussion between my mother and I, in a dream, in my grandmother's house that was sold and demolished last summer.

K: It's silly, really, to redo the wallpapers now that the house is no longer ours. (The rolls of wallpaper we had in our hands were ugly blue and in no way appropriate for the mid-century style of the house.)
M: Yes. The new resident will most likely have her own style and she'll redecorate anyway.
K: I thought no one was going to move in here anymore.
M: True.
K: I don't think I actually am here.
M: Yes.
K: Yes what? I think it's impossible for this to happen, for this place to be.

It was the house of everything. I think I waited all my life to be old enough to see all the things it hid inside, to be grown up enough to play with even the fanciest of buttons, to put the National Geographics back on the shelf in whatever order I want.

Entering my nth year of depression. I got up too early. Woke up too early, but with enough morning light to see when V began to open his eyes, still desperately hanging on to the remains of his dreams. 

I won't make resolutions. I just hope, a little, small things. Like to be well enough to make an advent calendar this year too. Maybe begin writing a journal again.