If I were an Inuit, I would probably be able to say in a single word the type of snowfall we had today. As it happens, I am not Inuit and neither are you (or so I presume) so that’s slightly redundant. But walking to the bus stop this morning in the snow felt like I was walking atop a Victoria sponge. The snow was falling lightly as icing sugar would through a sieve. It had all but disappeared by second break but to walk along early that morning, quietly singing songs about snowing (and being chided for singing Christmassy songs but since when did Winter Wonderland ever mention Christmas?) was quite nice. If a bit nippy.
This week has been such that I’ve cursed the days as they intruded onto my consciousness. I’ve said it all, from, “Ah, shit… Monday.” to, “Bollocks… Wednesday.” No doubt I’ll thank fuck it’s Friday within moments of waking tomorrow. And thank fuck for a week off next week. Other than skipping Media on Monday to go home and sledge instead (when my teacher asked, I told him that I had been ill without so much of a giveaway hesitation.), I haven’t missed any lessons; haven’t even considered it. That doesn’t necessarily mean I’ve cared. I’ve just kind of let everything wash over me. And I think I’ve failed my French mock.
Such is life. None of these matter in the grand scheme of things. I’m just going to welcome my week off with open arms and hope to see things from a different perspective once college starts again.
Goodnight. (:
I hear there's alot of Inuits browsing through blogspots at this time of year :P
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