Kate called from Los Angeles this morning. She was wearing sandals. I think I managed to stifle my squicky groan as I used that bit of knowledge how the “winter” outside Winnipeg can be to stab myself in the brain. The eye is part of the brain, right?
I hate the cold so very much. At work today Ivy said it sounded like the walking to work in the cold was making me bitter, but she missed the main point which is that winter itself, not whether I am walking to work or not, is what makes me hate. I really wonder what it would be like if I had grown up in a place where half the year wasn’t a constant war with the goddamned motherfucking elements. Where I wasn’t aware of the need to double up the fabric between mitts and sleeves so your wrists don’t die. What would my personality be like without this infusion of pain and misery every year?
I went to Quinzmas tonight only to be told that it was sold out. It was a 45 minute trip across the city (not the whole city) in the -39 degrees, directly after a 45 minute trip home from work in the -39 (but the wind then was at my back so I didn’t die as much as I will tomorrow on the way to work when it’s scheduled to be -47), only to have to walk out the fucking door and run to catch a bus that passed me. I did and so didn’t have to stand around waiting for a bus home until trying to get a connection. Still took another 45 fucking minutes though.
Needless to say these trips are glasses-less so my scarf can mummy me up and I expose as little skin as possible (and don’t have metal next to my flesh; just handling my keys to open my apartment direct from outside hurts), but that means I can’t see shit for finding buses. And Winnipeg’s cornucopia of different bus models doesn’t make it easy to memorize the smeary light patterns they make on my retinas.
I hate so fucking much.bus cold kate los angeles quinzmas vina wind chill winnipeg winter