My eyes are scratchy, and my lips are dry. Today I rejoiced in the thrill of learning again, yet a huge part of me rebelled at the continuation of winter...this city...the mundane-ness of the routine that i can already sense is starting to form. My life only seems to flourish in the unexpected. When it doesn't happen, I search it out, and have to find it in the little things: a busker in the train station. A particularly beautiful frozen tree. A chickadee outside my window. Salad-rolls for supper. It's these tiny blips, petite surprises that break with the norm, that make every day worth experiencing.
The endless frozen grey that makes up my backdrop provides a serious burden on the soul. The ground is grey. The houses are grey. The sky, the buildings, the trees, even the people are grey. Again, it's the monotony that kills me. You need a grey heart, a strong, steel/rock/Northern heart to survive this far from the sun. It's something i don't have. I think it would be romantic if i could be stoic like my people, but i need the warmth too much. That's why I am secretly, selfishly, happy about global-warming.
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