Ochre Yellow

I like the feeling of writing in my journal, fresh from my bath, seated upon my bed. The sensation of air drying the water from naked skin, the scent of coffee body wash and chocolate body lotion filling the room. Its been a long long time since I've written here, and I'm only doing it now because I made a deal with a friend- and also because, writing is a habit, like any other, and in my opinion, I don't do enough of it. Neither of us do.

This isn't a story or a poem or any planned piece of prose. It's just a long ramble, a lazy Sunday afternoon spent spilling thoughts onto my laptop screen. I honestly don't give a fig if someone reads this or not. If you do, that's fine. If I'm typing into the void, that's fine too. I've had enough of pretensions. Also- before I continue- if your name is Pixie, then you're unreservedly welcome here, as always. 

Like I said, this isn't planned. I don't know what will find its way here- its all just word vomit (mind vomit? thought vomit?). There's a horror fiction podcast playing in the background, sinister music coming through the speakers. I love being spooked- comfortably, of course, and if you're like me, and especially if you come across this post in October, you should try a scary podcast or two. I'm halfway addicted. Winter is a vibe, you know, at least for me it is. I like the dark face of the year to be chilly, spooky and spicy- not necessarily in that order though. Here's Winter in snapshots, brief impressions through my eyes-

- Breaths rising gray and silver through half-open mouths.

-Hot chocolate with cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves.

- My mind growing sharper, the blood quickening in my veins.

- Nights growing longer, the stars glimmering in hard and frosty pinpricks across the sky.

-The instinctive movement of flesh towards warmth- warm drinks, warm beds, warm bodies.

The list goes on, but I'm not willing to part with all my hoarded memories quite so easily or all at once. Besides, I have a bunch of stuff to read and assignments to write and I'm already skirting the deadline. As per our agreement, I shall match a post to every one my friend writes ( you hear that Pixie-girl?), and if she doesn't, well. I suppose we'll get to that when it comes up.

Until next time.

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