In November, I am mostly glum. I do that every year, so it's no cause for alarm, in fact no one who knows me worries or asks why I'm being quiet, it's November, that's why. I once got so sad in November that I thought I might drop dead of it, but I didn't, and ever since that I get sad on Bonfire Night and pretty much keep it up (or down) until St Nicholas' day. I take it as an opportunity to be nice to myself and buy lots of hot milky beverages and read adventure novels, and I don't expect my drawings to be great, neither. They are November-drawings, a bit wonky and miserable.
This November is actually surprisingly cheery... I think I am getting better at Novembers. I think it's because I have learned to indulge my gloomy self to a point where it's actually kind of happy, drinking milky spicy tea and thinking how amazing it would be if suddenly one of the people in the café would take their coat off and spread great wings and all the pigeons in the street would come and peck at the window, and then no one would need to worry about anything else for the day.
I also don't question ideas as much in November, like the notion that it would be a lot nicer to sleep in a tent. I tried it out with bedding sheets and it really is an improvement, so today I'll go and buy myself a tent that fits on my bed neatly. I don't see why only children get to have brilliant beds anyway, I would like to have one in the shape of a boat, with a ladder going up the side, and trunks full of books, and rigged with night-sky sails, but that wouldn't fit into the studio so well. Maybe one day.