Saturday, 12 November 2011


A weekend, thank goodness. Still no snow, but new winter boots and cutting up old maps for a school project. And lots of shits and giggles. I'm rereading (or maybe rerererereading) Salinger and Jansson and Nabokov to prepare myself for winter. Any wintry book recommendations? (Anything involving snow, ice and/or moonlight is most welcome.)

(Maybe I just don't know how to live properly, or how to be young either. I thrive in this melancholy in-between of autumn and winter like no other season. The sun sets after four in the afternoon and evenings are painted over with a brush of muted tiredness. Summers especially make me feel woefully inadequate, with my endless lack of spontaneity and heavy suitcase of what-ifs. My mother calls me a child of winter, not only because I was born in February, but because I'm so at home in the long months of snow.) 

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