So to the first of December I look. And until then, the ball of excitement in my belly continues to grow (or was that my large dinner?)...
Every year I dream that summer will be more wonderful then it probably ever turns out. But I don't care. Come next spring, the very same excitement and anticipation builds... And I dream of long sticky, humid days (a horrid thought for many, a fantasy for me) where the possibilities are endless.
Music festivals, jandals, minimal makeup, litres and litres of water, dancing for no particular reason (alright you got me there, I do this all year round however in summer it feels more natural/justified), Christmas, New Years... Ah the joys! The joys!
Let's hope December arrives before I spontaneously combust!
Kick off your shoes, the blues, the news, anything but your mind.