Sunday, January 21, 2007

Viõrar Vel Til Loftárasa

First snow. First snow. Goddamn heart of January. That, and Ágætis Byrjun. It's been done before, of course. Who listens to Sigur Rós on snowy days? Who doesn't? Who shouldn't?

Enveloping cold, be one final ward against the alien warmth of machinery. Snow clings. Not like waste heat. Snow promises cold and sticks to you to reassure you of that promise.

Or something. I know that the air seems more tangible when it's snowing. A little easier to grasp.

I remember sledding down the hill behind my house when I was little. Seemed like a sheer drop then--but probably even smaller than the slope behind Bloomberg. I remember walking through the trails and fields behind Lawrenceville when it was shut down (imagine the amount of snow you'd need to shut down a boarding school), lying down in snow that was too deep to make angels in--and this was an entire cornfield, not just a drift. I remember walks along the ravine two years ago, and swingsets with frozen chains that numbed my palms.

Many good memories of snow. I don't think I actually have any bad memories associated with snow, at all.

Good weather for an airstrike. Good weather for things to change. Will they? It would make me happy.

School starts tomorrow. Think I'm dropping Cell Bio. Conflicts with X-ray Crystallography, damn Lattman had to switch the schedule around on me. Nobody else is trying to take Crystallography and Cell Bio at the same time? Just my luck, I suppose. I'm probably going to get a B in Cell Bio when I eventually take it, anyway, which will probably be next year.

Running out of excuses to leave the apartment. Internet's fucked, stealing someone else's. Thank providence for an apartment building full of students who have wireless routers. God damn if I'm going to be stuck in a room surrounded by self-destructing machines.

Out and into the snow now. Old friend of mine, ain't seen for a year. Time for some familiar embraces. I take what I can get.


Always waiting for communications from Paris, London, Denmark, wherever. Wishing I were European. And female. Check.

1 comment:

Jessica said...

I have a baddish memory concerning snow: I always hated walking back up that steep hill after a sled-ride down. But other than that, snow is pretty much perfect.
Winter is a good time to pretend to be a man if you're a girl and vice versa in your writing!