But in a manner not unlike the squirrels, I find myself--as I do most Decembers--trying to satisfy an an oddly familiar gnawing feeling.
It haunted the lines of the overly jolly Christmas music wafting out of a storefront I walked past after work yesterday.
It curled--like tendrils of invisible smoke--around the glimmering ornaments we hung on our miniature tree last weekend.
It awakens me sometimes, in the midst of these mornings of extended darkness.
You know what I am talking about: the Hollow-ness. The Flatness. The Anti-Climatic Angst.
The Seasonal Staleness that seems to pervade even our best efforts to infuse this time of year with some semblance of significance...