February and all that jazz

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bruce and the laundry 2014

Thank god it’s February. This year I disliked January more than usual, which wasn’t actually January’s fault. Now we’re here, in a month that is only marginally better, and I sort of just feel…trapped, rhetorically speaking. Like I have a million things to say and no appropriate platform on which to say them. New work responsibilities carrying over far too heavily into my home life, waiting to move out of the in-laws into our own place, days longer than they once were but not long enough that I actually do much with them, and the tiny piece de resistance on a first world shit sandwich, the loss of a handful of written and published blog posts (some more solid than others, but all my own) lost to the internet due to a kerfuffle with the effing hosting companies, old and new. I’m vaguely buzzing with a barely contained amount of emotion on a daily basis so far this month. i don’t like it, and I want to chill out, and be calm and wise and good. (edit: thibault fixed the lost posts problem and i am forever grateful! what a great surprise, and how strange that a bunch of words strung together, then lost into the ether, could have such an effect on my psyche).

The weather is probably contributing to this also, in some sort of subliminal way. Endless rain, high winds, flooding and collapsing train lines all over the news and everywhere I look. The west pier in Brighton (the one which you’ve seen in a million and one photographs of mine, if you’ve been reading here any amount of time) suffered some severe damage in this latest round of apocalyptic weather, and it looks as if it’s not long for this world. I’m hoping to go check it out this tomorrow when we’re in Brighton, and I can only hope it lasts that long, what with another 48 hours of end-of-days type weather. It is a beautiful, decrepit, thing.

The rain keeps on coming. I think it will be many years before I can really accept this as the norm for winter. I miss snow, and actual cold. But now it’s February and I feel as if that is nearly a time that is spring, especially around here, and I can’t wait for that. I keep skyping and chatting and whats apping with my people in America, and I can see the snowy whiteness and hear all about the cold so cold that people have been forbidden from leaving their homes. But somehow, strangely, I still miss it. It seems more normal and right than this temperate rain. And it’s just another thing that I’ve missed.

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