December

                       The concrete walls of the aggressive car parks are sweating at the heat of angry mothers dragging their vexatious offsprings of poorly mixed dna into the brusque crowds; fighting each other for the contributions that will be this years 'gift of joy'. 

The sun is forcing it's shine through bedroom windows earlier each morning, and leaving later every afternoon. The heat is loitering, becoming persistent, forcing burnt skin and thirsty mouths into crowded oceans.

"Get your summer body ready!" will be regurgitated through advertising platforms as the gyms prepare for their money making season that is result of the New Years Resolution. 

A year ago we decided who we ought to be this year.   But that year is over, and we must create another ideal character to play.

A year ago I did not give myself a character to play, I did not make any resolutions, I did not give myself the false hope that I could be anything other than what I am. I gave myself no opportunity to fail. I have both failed and succeeded.

This year I have: completed a degree, dropped out of a degree, moved to a new city -twice, almost lost my licence,  traveled with my love over six uncomfortable planes, slept on a coach bus, back-packed my way through a different country, made friends with strangers, met a drag queen, stood up for myself, drank myself silly, threw birthday cake at my window, cried on my bathroom floor, hugged my parents, climbed three mountains, left my retail job for the dreamy 9-5 salary, went to seven concerts, adopted a kitten, grew my hair longer than my shoulders.

This year has been monumental.

This year has thrown at me the true concept of rock bottom.   Rock bottom is not reaching the farest depth of pain; rock bottom is trying to get back up.  This year has been a painful journey of love and grievance, and rock concerts and quite airports and ginger kittens and a blonde lover.

This year has been equal.
This year has been monumental.

Always,

em