Jacket: Vintage, Shirt (worn as a dress): Vintage, Shoes: Unif
I'm pale as fuck and I lose my shave every time I get goosebumps. My wardrobe and I were excited for the cool weather and layering opportunities, but I have little to keep me warm when it actually gets for real cold. Some of my plants have died because of this unseasonably freezing bullshit. The skin on the backs of my calves look like they've been the victim of a 14th century skin epidemic, due to my constant resting/grilling them on top of my heater.
The mornings are bitter and mean. As if waking up early weren't bad enough in itself, my shivering carcass must voluntarily unfold myself out of the blanket heap and stand up buck naked to the world and barefoot on the cold wooden floors. I throw today's clothes on top of the small heating vent in the living room and continue to the bathroom to defrost myself by way of the blow dryer. With a ton of makeup, I make a futile attempt to look alive, awake and youthful, but nothing helps. Even the coconut oil in my medicine cabinet is now a hardened and cracked white solid, like an old square of sidewalk.
By 7:45, the climax of facing the outside temperature is upon me. With boots laced up and baggage in both hands, I leave a tiny opening in my sleeve to hold my keys. I hop and dart toward my car. With one swift slick of the grass, the bright-as-fuck morning sky comes into clearer view and I'm suddenly on my butt, which is quickly soaking up the bitterly cold dew of the grass. My water bottle leaks all over me, my hands are covered in mud and grass and my shit is scattered EVERYWHERE.
I hate January.