When I woke up this morning, I did what I do on the first day of every month; I checked the lunar calendar. I had been keeping a year-long chart, but peering that far into the future got to be depressing with a capital Mega, so a few months ago I stopped doing that and adopted a new tactic. Now I only check the moon on a month-by-month basis. When I first made that decision, I took my father’s green metal box filled with the calendar he made for me and the rest of his werewolf memorabilia, added my old Two W Timber-wolf banner to the collection, and shoved it in the back of my closet. Way back. Who needs to be constantly reminded of what I already know: that one day out of every month I will transform into something grotesque and primitive and yes, even exquisite. It doesn’t matter if I know which day that will be a year in advance or just a month; the outcome is going to be the same. But this morning when I checked I realized this month would be different. November’s full moon will fall on the 29th.
