Oh, it is cold, out here… Oh, I so hate this weather, and it me.
I struggle to do all of the things I truly love: Eat, sleep, work, play, breathe. God, I so miss being able to breathe.
The thermometer might suggest it is not too cold, but thermometers have been known to lie on this matter.
With the piercing winds, the unseasonal rain, it is almost reminiscent of Wuthering Heights.
It is probably no surprise then that I have halted my work for the week to curl up under my blanket with the very book in my hand, trying to read as much as I can between increasingly painful bouts of cough.
There are some pleasant feelings associated with this season, with the holidays and the merriness with it, but I am just not interested in all that.
I will just stay in my bed, for now, sulking till the weather improves. And I will keep trying to breathe.
“If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”
—Percy Bysshe Shelley