January smells of ash and dust, tasting of tobacco and instant coffee. I'm too tired to eat. I feel like even the sky doesn't want me near it; unstable air and high winds ripping at Southern California's foothills. The wind blew embers through my childhood neighborhood and I watched it burn. Places I loved, worked at, learned at, burnt to ashes. I got my next rating finished, only to light a fire in my own yard that burnt the ties between someone I loved and myself. I blamed my celebratory liquor; who wouldn't, right? I blame everyone but myself and at the end of the day all I end up with is a dull and looming shame. January has felt eternal. 2025 has been forced on me. What I would give to go back two weeks...perhaps I could breathe. Perhaps January wouldn't smell of ash.

It has been nearly one year. I'm almost healed; it still hurts but looking back I wouldn't go back two weeks in time. It worked in my favor. I still mourn the loss of the places I loved in the very literal fire, though not the people I lost in the metaphorical one. I have a new cat. I have a true and valuable love. I have new friends. I have no job. I have failed my most important exam and get the opportunity to take it again. I have a new found love for myself, even through failure. This December tasted of malt beer, mushrooms, wine, and toffee. January, I pray you, be good to me.