It's that time of year when everything should be covered in green spines, ornaments tossed lovingly acrossed branches with the scent of pine blinding the senses. However, like most years that does not seem to be the case in my life or in my home. Instead all that blinds my senses is the insanity that belongs to my family. Not that I am complaining my family is uniquely mine, but I find it interesting that my home is never swept away with pine-scented dreams.
For once I would love for my life to be dream-like, but I get the almost dreams. The half-dreams.
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