For the next several months, may you have daily rage. You can't work your lighter while wearing gloves. Your mp3 player wheel or phone won't work with your thick woollen gloves, making your hands look like novelty space mittens. It's too warm on congested transport to be wearing all of these layers, but I don't have the space to take them off. 

Was it ever really warm? Will I ever be warm again? November is the time when you forget that such a thing as sunshine ever existed.

Everything is shit. Everything is shit now until next year. 

To warm your weary spirit, attached is a picture of my brother. Behold the true face of fear.