The eleventh day of the eleventh month is some sort of anniversary for me, so mark me down as an excused absence. I'll be lurking in the sugarcane grove, looking all eerie and shit.
And this image sums up all you really need to know about how low I go every November for as long as I can remember:
It's the clinical depression limbo, now tenderized by world news and that delightful seasonal sledgehammer.
Images from these two Val Lewton films.
So what's up with you? And if you can sum up your being in a single movie quote, please go ahead.
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