☁

Find me on cloud nine

Spun sugar

We always want what we can't have. 

Thunderstorms

Today I found in my archives a post unfinished from September:

Sometimes we are so preoccupied by end of season sales and chipped manicures that we forget to enjoy the simple pleasures in life, like listening to Kalmaegi make her rounds in the city. 

If I were a kind of weather, I most certainly would be a typhoon - loud, impatient and completely selfish - I probably sounded like one last week stomping around the flat in a rage because I had misplaced my sunglasses again. 

For as long as I can remember, I've loved

I'd like for it to have been something philanthropic, like ending ivory trade or finding a way to get Spotify Premium for free, but I was probably writing about my love for listening to thunderstorms while nestling under covers, knowing someone less fortunate is fighting through rush hour in the rain without an umbrella.

In fact, it had most likely taken too long to come up with the words to romanticise my terrible case of schadenfreude that I got distracted and left things half-written.

Bare

I'm hiding in my car taking deep breaths, completely overwhelmed by the wave of new information and confusing logistics. An unfamiliar playing field with too much oestrogen. 

It was a good idea to skip lunch - the anxiety is making me nauseous. The fact that I am without a manicure makes it worse. I'm at a state of utmost vulnerability, where the lightest snowflake could send me tumbling. 

And so I find comfort in old spaces and old faces. This is when bad judgement and lax morals come out to play.