It feels like it has been grey for weeks here and in truth it has. Grey and cold. That kind of cold which feels colder than it is (and seems to be an coastal phenomena), piercing you, chilling you to the bone, making you feel like you will never be warm again, no matter how hard you try, which is invigorating during drunken walks home, but kind of a pain in the ass any other time. Needless to say, I have loved it..... for the most part and I still smile every time I walk outside and feel that freezing air infiltrate my lungs.
As I hard as I try to deny it or get rid of it, there is still a part of me which longs for sunshine in January and temperatures so mild I can simply throw on a cardi, capris, and some ballet flats and fly out the door for my day. However, here, getting dressed can be a production. It can be a series of trials and errors, trying to stay warm without looking as if you are wearing every article of clothing you own. I often feel as if I am in an elaborately choreographed dance routine, missing only Jazz hands or spirit fingers.
So I don't know if it the sort of melancholic happiness or an attempt to balance out the feeling Bob Fosse is in charge of morning dressing ritual, but the only music which seems to make any sort of sense to today is Gillian Welch, Neko Case, and Allison Krauss. They remind me of home, all of my windows open during the last few days in January, baking, reading or just listening. It warms up the ice water in my veins, even if only for a moment.
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