For all it's worth, December is finally here at long last, and I am five days too late. There are things -- mundane things -- that have come and gone, experienced soiled and spoiled, shared and grieved. I've brought upon myself home a full dufflebag with a live mind inside, living and breathing, poised for a lifelong disarray. One thing to remind myself that there is danger in my words and actions, even moreso when prompted by rage and desperation. There is happiness in this, I whisper to myself, and everything seems to be forgotten. And then finally I've learned how to mature.