cold enough to think clearly

Today was cold. So cold, that I stayed in my pyjamas until half eleven. Holding onto every little bit of my body warmth for comfort. I hung my David Bowie top, and grey joggers by the radiator, letting it simmer in the heat before I could put it on with ease. Had breakfast with my parents per usual: fluffy eggs, Spam, and the ever-so tasteful fatty strips of bacon from America. They taste different. Good. But I always have it with rice for balance. 

Said goodbye to Mummy, wished her well for the day. “Good Luck,” because her boss is an extreme pain in the ass. I feel for her. I get on and set the dirty dishes by the sink. I have come to appreciate doing the dishes. When I was younger, I always disliked it. Always being told to do it, and I dreaded it. Not that I’m not being told to now. I still am. The difference is, I’m asked to. And maybe that’s why I have come to dislike it less. It’s also quite therapeutic. 

I put my dirty laundry in the washer right after. I haven’t had the chance to do so for the past few days because of the holidays. I’m also running out of my thick socks, and I needed it to keep my toes warm for this needle-cold winter. Headed back to my room. Grim, and still. The curtains were drawn. I kept a mental note of opening them soon. Wanted to sink in my bed, and succumb to a thirty-minute power nap, but got distracted. My hand reaching out to a book. Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn. I loved Gone Girl, I knew in my gut I’d love this just the same. I was halfway through, and eventually finished it. I was stricken, but I enjoyed it. 

Called my boyfriend to say I love him. He was walking his dog, Cody. Had a quick chat before hanging up as his hands were getting red in the cold. We both pecked the camera for a virtual kiss. Oh, I miss him so terribly. I see him tomorrow. My top and joggers were on the radiator for a while. For a moment, I was worried it will catch fire. I stared silently for minute. “Later,” I said. I was hungry. I took the leftovers from breakfast: one piece of bacon, and scrambled eggs. On the table next to it was a box of pastries. Large coconut rolls. I picked one. Prepared myself a cup of tea. 

I stood by the sink as I had my food. The roll was soft, coconut stuffing crumbled messily onto the plate. Pastel floral designs swirled around it. My tea hot, and the leftovers cold. I spurted ketchup all over the eggs and bacon. I looked up. It’s snowing! I tried not to get too excited. For some reason, I believe my feelings are somehow interconnected with the weather, animals, and the universe. The last time I got excited about snow, it stopped happening entirely. So, I’m not excited. 

Pulled out my phone. Forgot I was on a girl’s TikTok page. I also forgot I followed her. She wrote beautifully. About feelings, thoughts, happenings, and even the most mundane things. Ethereal poetries, but also raw and real. Sonnets, haikus, free verses. Her vocabulary was remarkable. I’m envious. The ability to describe such feelings, and thoughts, and imagery was almost tangible. It was impressive. I’m envious. I read through and thoroughly. “How does she write so well?” I asked myself. Combed through her presence, all symmetry and cohesion. Even with the hint of tragedy, it all fits. In her image, her aesthetic, in her look. Viewed myself in an outerbody. To compare. I’m everywhere. Cluttered. No sort of harmony. 

I’m frustrated. I glanced at my blog. “What is this?” I groaned. Part of me urges to change. To reinvent. Part of me doesn’t want to. Ashamed? Embarrased? Humiliated? Maybe. No one probably cares. I recalled my unfinished piece about the year 2025, dusting away in my drafts. Bitterness bubbled deep in my gut. It had been more than twenty Sundays that passed since I last wrote. I hate thinking about it. Looked back at my blog, uneasy. Thought about ways to redesign the wheel. My tea had gone cold, which reminded me of my clothes by the radiator. 

The clothes were warmer than my body could give. I hugged myself. I stared out of the window. Snow dusted the roofs, grass, and the dangerously icy footpaths. Like icing sugar on gingerbread houses. It looked the part. The browns of the scale-like roof tiles. The bare-limbed, skeletal trees and bushes. The pavement, and the dirt of car tires on ice. Contrasting against the pure whiteness of snow. So pure. So cold. I noticed the flurries. So sweet, and passing, like McFlurry from McDonalds. I rarely have it. It’s hypnotic to look at. 

I smiled at myself. I think I love winter as much as I love summer.