Friday 6th December 2024 in 2024

The alarm went off at 5:30 a.m., and for a moment, I just stared at the ceiling. Winter mornings like this feel like stepping into cold water—you know it’ll wake you up, but there’s still that tiny moment of hesitation before the plunge. I got up, stretched out the stiffness, and went through the motions: yoga, coffee, to-do list. The usual.

Work was… fine. Nothing remarkable, which is almost more unsettling than the chaos. A smooth day always feels like the calm before some kind of storm, but maybe that’s just the result of months of overthinking. By lunchtime, I was already looking forward to choir practice tonight—it’s becoming my Friday ritual.

The thing about choir is, it’s a lot like life: it sounds beautiful when everyone’s in sync, but it can feel messy getting there. Tonight we worked on Carol of the Bells—the tricky part isn’t the rhythm but finding that perfect balance where every voice fits, sharp edges smoothed away. And then we sang O Holy Night, which I always thought was my favourite. But for some reason, singing it tonight felt… heavy. It’s such a soaring, dramatic song, and I used to get swept up in it. But now I’m wondering if I like it because I truly love it, or just because it’s what you’re supposed to love at Christmas. It’s strange how that happens with music—or anything, really.

Afterward, I walked home, the air was kinda cold. I was humming bits of Carol of the Bells but couldn’t get past one line. It’s funny how melodies stick like that, almost like they’re trying to tell you something.

Back home, I heated up more of that chili and brown rice. It’s been my go-to this week, but tonight it tasted different—like it had settled into itself, deeper, richer somehow. I sat there eating, thinking about the night. Choir always leaves me with this knot of feelings—part joy, part self-doubt, part something I can’t name. But maybe that’s why I go back every Friday. Not to feel perfectly in tune, but to just try to feel something … something different.

It’s past ten now, and I’m crawling into bed with a book. Not sure how far I’ll get before I drift off, but I like knowing it’s there, waiting. That’s what I like about books—they don’t rush you. They just sit with you until you’re ready.