It's the thirtieth of November and the skies have finally opened. It's been threatening to rain all week, dark skies obscuring the sun and casting everything in a cool, grey light. They've finally fulfilled their promise today and it's bucketing down outside my window as if to make up for holding back all week. What took you so long? I want to ask. I know I'll receive no answer. The rain falls onto cars, dead birds squashed into roads, the pohutukawa tree. The garden knows not to ask any questions, simply rejoices.
It's the thirtieth of November and I am full of clichés. Tomorrow is December, the beginning of Advent, the beginning of the end of 2024. I have only three weeks left of school and my bright, funny, goofy class will be mine no more, scattered by the winds to the other side of the school hall. My heart pre-emptively clenches at the loss.
It's the thirtieth of November and my brothers won't text me back. I am trying to organise their Christmas gift, but their silence prevents me.
It's the thirtieth of November and the fifth day of this project. Yesterday was a lost cause. I woke up sensing that the queasiness and unpleasant stomach systems I had suffered the night before had persisted. Texts were sent, plans reorganised and the covers drawn back over my head to fall back into a broken, sweaty, hours-long sleep. I ate what I felt like yesterday and that included some junk food. It was okay. I don't think it needs to bring these thirty days to a screeching halt. I'm back on track today, trying to pay attention to my body and being, and what both of them need.
It's the thirtieth of November and the post-its on my wall are calling. It's time to pray those big prayers again.
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