I thought my cough couldn't get any worse, but I was wrong. I haven't slept through the night since last Thursday, and after spending the entire day in bed, don't feel much better. This sucks. I'd actually rather be at work, and well. But anyway. When I couldn't sleep the other night I lay thinking about summer, when we won't need two duvets or to wear woollen stockings under everything (I realised last week that the only difference between woollen stockings and long johns are the feet), and getting dressed won't take nearly as long because I won't be wearing three layers plus a jacket every time I leave the house. I pictured New Year's at Hot Water Beach in the caravan Vincent and I want to hire, although my imaginings were a lot like a fashion shoot of myself, in which I looked fabulous.
The caravan looked like this:
Except it was white. And we had a bottle of tequila in it from which we kept filling our glasses, and there was lots of beer, and books, and SUN. I was wearing my new sandals:
Which should arrive this week, and something like this:
Seen here on Sunny Walker. I have been spending way too much time over the past week perving at her enviable wardrobe here. If you see me around this summer and think the look is familiar, it's probably because it's inspired by her (although I'm quite ready for it to be unrecognisable; she is very willowy, and I am... not very willowy. Unless we're talking about the trunk). And songs like this will be playing in the background:
Even though Vincent isn't really a fan of Best Coast. I can't help it; it's girly summer music, not great, but I really like how it sounds, and I have a little bit of a girl-crush on Bethany. I can't wait to have lots of big tattoos and not just two small ones, and moisturised skin. Unfortunately I'm sticking with my lifetime policy of Out Of Sight etc, so my limbs are a bit like snakeskin. Probably fairly valuable, actually.
Thinking about summer isn't at all in keeping with my preferred way of living in the present but with Vincent not home, it's all that's keeping me from tearing my lungs out and stamping on them. Winter and I have always been friends; I was born in winter, and I love hats and gloves and boots and fires and long hot showers and rainy nights and wind outside. But I'm at the end of my tether, pulling at it, so much that it will either break or choke me, and I don't care much which it is.
Come on, summer.