The Sun is Sleepy

I asked myself for an honest explanation for my extended hiatus from blimblop. I could muster only two plausible explanations:

a) lazy, I am
b) cold, It is [extremely]

This is the most debilitating nature of cold I have ever had the misfortune of experiencing. The only thing this weather is good for is sleeping and complaining about how cold it is.

*

The Sun slept in today. Immersed himself in a coccoon of clouds till only the most resilient of rays could sneak out. Few and far between.

And all of everywhere is steeped in the most morose shade of grey. If "depressed" were a coulour I suppose it would look a lot like how the world is painted right now. And it is indeed a stubborn hue, immune to all nature of distractions. No amount of sunny smiles or cups of piping hot milk... My nose is red and toes are turning blue but everything else is still mostly grey.

I see no reason to get up today. To extricate myself from the under the layers and between the folds of my warm bed, made warm by an hour of dedicated shivering and 6 more of wriggling around in fitful dissatisfying sleep.

If the sun can be on vacation, I see no reason to not follow suit. What could I possibly gain by a display of industriousness? And how much would I lose if I grant my poor little tired self one more hour of precious sleep.

*

I'm slowly having to come to terms with how much I will miss Delhi. I can't imagine being anywhere else and being comfortable.

As much as I complain, it is this winter that I'll miss the most. The one that is slipping out if my fingers as I speak. The numbness in my ears when I'm traveling by a rickety old rick. My poor chill blained toes itching for attention. Being allergic to baths and yet having to subject oneself to the evil ritual everyday. Chapped lips, butchered cuticles... The million layers that never seem to be enough.

And the complaints. I can't imagine crafting complaints as elaborate about any other season than I do with winter. It is the complaints that I'll miss the most.