Prelude to Winter Solstice is always a difficult time. It's more like a purgatory with decorative accents and unnecessary expenditures than it is like a hell, but all the same the secret is to keep 'otherwise preoccupied.' A mind wanders, starts concerning itself with the history of a completely fictional people, and there's always the happy possibility of a rubber room somewhere.
And here with respect to giving thanks, I am indeed grateful that all those
years ago I decided against actually inventing a completely fictional language
for a completely fictional people. Don't get me wrong, I do have notes. Reams of
them, entitled The Language of Sabeans. Then the technical device arrived, I
pretty much forgot how to do handwriting and I'll tell you this much, a made up
language really confuses the spell checker.