This house is fucking freezing.
I have this small heater that’s supposed to make things livable and it does a half-assed job. It’s very disappointing.
I spend most of my time wearing thermal underwear and sweatsuits. I sleep under a layer of blankets.
It’s because the cold is a hungry beast. It tries to climb into a person’s veins.
I sometimes feel as though Eternal Winter has cast a spell on me.
In the same way that the Winter Queen cursed our country, I have to wonder if I’ve been more personally cursed. To always have cold hands and a standoffish personality. To be so entirely outside of every group I stand in.
And my curse began in this house. Where I spent my childhood and most of my adolescence. That I have returned to as an adult. Mostly because I have nowhere else to go.
That’s the sad thing about burned bridges. They tended to add up.
Now here I am. Home again, home again.
Making the best of a bad situation feels like the best thing I could do. So I’ll hold myself together until this is all over.
I huddle around the propane heater in the main living room and listen to the conversation swirl around me. Five people in one space could make a fair bit of noise. I made myself one of them and lived amongst them, waiting for word to come.
It’s almost a surprise when the blue stamped letter comes. I had nearly given into despair. (What if they’ve forgotten me? What if this life becomes my real life for the next ten years?)
The enthusiasm at receiving orders — it made me ashamed of myself. Just for a little bit. But mostly I felt as if I’d found something I’d spent years looking for.
