Frigid

When a ten minute walk to the train station leaves my cheeks ablaze and fills my thighs with needles of ice, I seriously consider the pros of hibernation. In the progression from good to bad to better, we have entered the point that is worse which immediately precedes the getting better.

In short, it's cold. Every exposed patch of skin tingles and then burns. While I normally forsake the sardine tin which we in the City call the Metro in favour of a brisk walk, I am grateful for the possibility of ducking into the concrete underground to escape the chill.

I like to imagine that my cheeks are charmingly rosy upon coming in out of the cold, instead of the blotchy mess that they probably are. I keep up the hope that the snow will remain but the wind's bite will abate so that I might go skiing at least once this season. Hopefully some ski plans will come to fruition within the next month and I shall be shooting across pristine white slopes in no time.

The McGill scarf is growing exponentially since I discovered I was able to mindlessly knit while doing my readings. Pausing occasionally to count rows allows me to consider a particularly frustrating phrase from Kant or to nurse a few notions about Avant-garde paintings. At this rate I should be finished the thing and still be able to wear it on a sharp morning. As cozy as it feels on my lap I am sure it will be doubly so on my neck.

Some expectations for the week:

• Projects: Hem the lengths of Georgette I picked up yesterday for use as veils in belly dancing class. Thanks to a two-for-one deal I procured a length of juicy pink that reminds me of tropical flowers and yet another of late evening blue.
• In anticipation: A cookie-baking date with my wonderful Kooky Cookie Friend.  Nothing like baking with a good pal at the end of a cold week.
• Progress: Working towards fulfilling plans for being girly and getting a manicure. Anything to stop me from tearing my cuticles to shreds.