Cold in the mornings. Not proper cold, of course, barely in the negative C, but enough of a chill to make getting out from under the duvet into a chore that one puts off for as long as possible. I’ve started hitting my alarm clock hard, waiting for J.’s as the sign that no, I need to get the fuck out of bed.
Shades of Germany, a bedroom stuck above the archway into the back yard of the block. The digital thermometer telling me it’s –22 outside; about –5 in the room itself with an oil-filled radiator running all night. Huddled under a duvet and two blankets, grabbing clothes and warming them in bed for five minutes so it didn’t feel like getting dressed in ice. I’d chosen badly, of course, but in the summer it’s the coldest room and has a balcony. I moved in when the average was 25 in the shade. Bad decisions happen when it gets that hot.
I like it when it’s cold, don’t get me wrong. Especially when the sun’s up. Clear air, the moisture sucked out of it and frozen on the ground so you get less distortion. But when it’s grey — or snowing — I end up just wanting a cigarette a lot of the time.
For all that I like the cold, I don’t particularly like walking home in the dark. I know a lot of people want to move to a permanent BST — the equivalent of putting the UK on CET. Which would mean it gets dark during January at half five, not half four. Nice, you might think. But in January, the sun wouldn’t rise until a quarter to ten. Bugger that. Dark in the evenings is easier to handle than dark in the mornings, when the world is telling you to fuck off back to bed.
The worst thing about the cold is waking up and finding out that one shoulder’s been out from under the covers. My back’s riddled with knots to the point it needs a sledgehammer and a masonry chisel to loosen it up, freezing part of it for a night brings enough low-level pain and discomfort to fuck up the entire day.
Colder on some parts since I started shaving much of my head, of course. Tried a longer-term dye a couple of weeks ago, Manic Panic’s Cotton Candy Pink. Looked good for the first week and a half, but by this point enough of the bleach is showing that my hair looks more orange than pink. My naïve estimate is back to mostly-normal by this point next week, at which point I can break out something new, but we’ll see how reality matches up to guesswork.Originally posted at Dreamwidth, where people have commented. Please join them. You can log in there with your Livejournal account.