There are times when I simply don’t know what to write about. Doctor Who served me pretty well yesterday, but I don’t want to just talk about the same thing over and over again; I would rather change things up occasionally and keep things fresh or whatever.
I already mentioned how I don’t like the winter because it means my skin is always dry (and I’m too lazy to use lotion anywhere else but my hands). It doesn’t matter what kind of soap I use, if the water is cold or warm or in between, here in the last few days, every time I wash my hands, they come out dry and itchy and uncomfortable. And I do use lotion, but even that doesn’t seem to serve, and I am rather loath to use it so often that I run out (and besides that, I don’t like the greasy feeling it gives my hands after repeated use). I don’t mind the winter cold, so much, but I do mind the dryness of the air indoors, with the heat running at all hours to fulfill one of those basic human needs outlined by Thoreau: food, water, shelter, fuel. (In this case it’s the fuel bit.) But yes, I am a bit over dry skin by now, which is a bit of a problem when one considers that it’s going to be cold here for another couple of months at least. Speaking of frustrating things.
Apparently it iced overnight. The world is frosted and frozen over, or at least it was when I glanced out a window. I don’t mind the winter weather so much, mostly because I never go out in it if I can help it. I remember last year, driving home from work while it was snowing or sleeting or something and had been for a while, driving slowly because I didn’t care to crash and raging, as always, at the jerks who thought I was going too slowly. (I rage at these jerks all the time. I always desperately wish for them to get pulled over, so I can drive by at the proper speed and laugh at them.)
I don’t mind the ice. Just so long as I don’t have to go out in it today. (And to be honest, I would have preferred snow. It’s prettier.)
(20/260)
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