Outside, the ground is slick with overflowing, wobbly puddles that are edging ever closer to the doorway with each drop of rain that falls.
It has been a steady curtain, falling, pattering, schirring against tin and glass and and concrete for most of the day. The pleasant soundtrack of that violent, splattering burst of water being torn to pieces as it overflows from the gutter and gets swept to the ground by the giant, battering force of gravity.
The rain brings with it a sweet kind of freshness, where everything goes that one shade darker than itself, until night swallows colour and light shines from the grass and anything deep enough to allow water to pool.
It also brings electric blankets, cups of tea, books and bed.
Winter is here.
I have a rare talent.
No, not just my ability to make my feet so pigeon-toed that my toes literally touch each other (see picture).
My favourite pj’s and my gumboots. Fashion lives here.
My rare talent is a result of lacerated nerves and tendons from one of my old Drunk Adventures.
I discovered yesterday, whilst trying to scrub ink off the outside of my left wrist, that I have the ability to tickle myself.
The nerve damage runs from the tip of my left little finger, down the outside of my hand and along the scarring, which stops 1/3 of the way down my forearm. It is along this tingly path that I can tickle myself, until the entire thing goes numb and I can no longer feel anything.
This superpower comes at a price, however. Mostly in the form of bullshit temperature-feels where I experience things 10 degrees hotter or colder than they truly are. Including the weather.
Winter is almost here and I really don’t think I can get another season out of my stripey skull elbow-length fingerless gloves. They are amazing, but also held together purely by the power of cat fur.
I really should finish learning how to knit. You can’t exactly buy replacements in this little town.