~ Friday, December 05, 2003 ~
Snow. It's beautiful and white and fluffy and crunchy and magical. Yes, soon it will be grey and brown and slushy and dirty and creeping into my socks and freezing my ankles and toes, but for now I'm going to walk back to the laundromat and forget about that, just enjoying the pretty pretty snowdrifts and the feeling of receiving this gentle shower.
Man at laundromat (seeing my snow-encrusted hair trailing down my back, and my coat-induced roughly triangular form): You look like one of them...them Christmas Tree angels.
Me (tentatively feeling the top of my head and hearing the *crunch* of the snow on my hair): Yeah, I guess I should get a hat or something.
Him (after a pause): You won't get sick or nothing, will you?
Me: No. I am immune. To everything.
Unrelatedly, one of the best things about having a floor-to-ceiling heating pipe against the wall in my room is that I can dry my gloves with it and entertain myself at the same time. The pipe is close enough to the wall that I can just wedge the thumbs in between the pipe and the wall and they'll stay in place, so they dry off and meanwhile it looks like disembodied hands are reaching through the wall and climbing up the pipe.
Current Music: Rap coming from Cheyanne's room
~ prattled by Miriam at 5:12 p.m. [+]
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