My mug and saucer don't match. One of them is a shiny forest green and the other white with a lacy brown detail wrapping around the border. They are not part of the same set of porcelain but I like them both, not in the least because they're the combination vessel that's delivering me my Sumatran.
I'm on the east side this morning, waiting for Mac's to open so I can hobble over and start a shift that will carry me through from ten till three. I wish I could transplant the fireplace at Phoenix (next to which I am happily crowded) to the front of the bookstore, so that with every entering customer I didn't have to brace for quite the same cold cough of December air. I might allow myself to be a slight bit late in joining Alan today...
The transitional season seemed to end with finals, and the anxiety and frantic feelings that kept me biking every minute that it wasn't raining (and crying every minute that it was) have settled into a much more steady state of winter. I can't hope for another day above 55 degrees, but it's almost okay. I seem to have acclimated to the change. I have a puffy coat, puffy mittens, wool socks, thick shoes, and a Dale of Norway sweater to keep the heat from my faulty inner furnace from completely escaping. My mood has less texture and my emotions generally resemble the sky: matte grey, though not unhappy. It's just the freezing-season survival mode, I suppose. I shut down my senses as there's less stimulation. I wait for the colors to come back to my habitat outside, and then I come out of hibernation.
It's either that, or the fact that I've been off my bike for nearly two weeks, that makes me feel as though I'm underwater. I never take days off, but weather and injury both seem to have throttled my jet engines right into a stall-out. I'll just pretend I'm an injured fox, snuggling into a snow-proof den for a restorative hiatus from the world.
...except that I have to go sell books 3 minutes ago.