there's a Thing in our cupboard

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, listening to something that's about ten feet away, under our sink, having what sounds like his own personal party.

This is what I hear:
"Psssh. Psh. Pssshh." (I assume this is wading through plastic bags)
SCRATCHSCRRTCHSCRATCHSCRRRTCHZ. (digging to China. Or through our apparently not-so-protective cardboard+duct-tape, hole-in-the-wall barrior.)
Shshsh, Shshshshshsh. (Quiet, slow moving around.)

These aren't cockroach noises.

If T. wasn't halfway to England right now, if he was securely and dependably studying Korean in his room through the wall to my right, I could ask him to investigate. He would open the cupboard door. If it wasn't the day before Thanksgiving, if I wasn't alone in a deserted, mournful, dangerous, gray and rainy Hyde Park, I'm sure I could call on a few others as well. As it stands, it's just me and those two closed, wooden, mocking cupboard doors.

On another front--

November gets me down. November and February. They're just two months I have to grind my teeth and soldier through, months that deeply acquaint me with the color gray, months that coin a certain kind of depression I sometimes feel. It isn't all everything personal that's going on around me right now. But it may be the long-term accumulation of personal things that I've avoided dealing with. Nevertheless, I've just felt down.

After talking to my mom, though, I feel a little better. That's because she floated this possibility: post-Christmas getaway in Mexico/Florida Keys/somewherewithsun.

Normally--how corny.
Now--how necessary.

...dare I dare to hope?