it is the time of year . . . .

don't you love it when people say that? I don't. It's either accompanying a sentiment that is shared by hardly anyone except that intimate group of friends of which I am not a part, or it is followed by a caramel-sweet cliche. But I use it all the time, so I have really no cause to complain.

It is the season . . . here we go again. ahem.

Though not particular to any month or season, I'm feeling empty. It is so hard to genuinely want to be with people for a good that is greater than your own. The very feeling makes one apart in the sense that one most wants to be *a* part. Maybe I am feeling full of emotion--like the froth on the top of a wave from "the inconstant sea". Who said that? I don't remember. It doesn't matter.

I'm listening to Christmas music now. Conspiratorily, of course, and just between you and me *nudgenudgewinkwink*, I think it helps to feel a little more at Home. But froth and foam fills my head. So transient. My emotions are so transient. I almost hate them.

Anyway, I must go to sleep. I have a gathering of fellow souls tomorrow. And besides, if I wake up early I can get a caffe . . . I make light of things, don't believe me. But I want to leave you with a quote. This goes along with feeling vulnerable, for all those that are following Other Threads.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket -- safe, dark, motionless, airless -- it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable...The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers of and perturbations of love is Hell."
- C.S. Lewis