(no subject)
It's a beautiful November morning in Montreal, the snow is falling slowly, steadily... feathering it's way into car locks and knitted scarves in the cold winter wind. It's bitterly cold here, but bitter in the most wonderful I have a warm cup of coffee, a cozy sweater, and a quiet cafe to sit in sort of way. Sometimes, I begin to believe I really am a hopeless romantic.
Nothing happening with boys, as per usual, my fleeting moments of feeling like I belong somewhere are becoming too much work for me, and I would much rather stay curled beneath layers of fleece on my couch, rathere than venture out and attempt to be social. I talk on the phone... that's social right?
The Christmas lights are up all over the city. Each night twinkling just a little bit brighter than the last. My whole being just wants to tie myself up in plaid scarves and sing carols until I turn blue... I want to sing Christmas from every tree covered in twinkly lights in this city... but I hate Christmas... or the Christmas I know I have coming up anyway. Awkward family bullshit. One day, I will fall in love and have the perfect Christmas. Christmakkah. Whatever. Maybe I could light candles on the tree with the shabas, and cross reference the holidays? Now you can tell it's too early in the morning.
I love the snow.
I love Montreal.
I love life, and love, and good friends, and bad movies, and wool sweaters, and things that smell like cinamon, and mochachinos, and wool socks, and everything and everyone. This is a very perfect morning. And I would not let anything spoil that for the world.
No, sir. Not for the world.
Nothing happening with boys, as per usual, my fleeting moments of feeling like I belong somewhere are becoming too much work for me, and I would much rather stay curled beneath layers of fleece on my couch, rathere than venture out and attempt to be social. I talk on the phone... that's social right?
The Christmas lights are up all over the city. Each night twinkling just a little bit brighter than the last. My whole being just wants to tie myself up in plaid scarves and sing carols until I turn blue... I want to sing Christmas from every tree covered in twinkly lights in this city... but I hate Christmas... or the Christmas I know I have coming up anyway. Awkward family bullshit. One day, I will fall in love and have the perfect Christmas. Christmakkah. Whatever. Maybe I could light candles on the tree with the shabas, and cross reference the holidays? Now you can tell it's too early in the morning.
I love the snow.
I love Montreal.
I love life, and love, and good friends, and bad movies, and wool sweaters, and things that smell like cinamon, and mochachinos, and wool socks, and everything and everyone. This is a very perfect morning. And I would not let anything spoil that for the world.
No, sir. Not for the world.