The quintessential pre-winter post.

It's almost wintertime again, and already I have started fantasising about new books to read, lying curled up inside my favourite quilt, in the tangy beautiful winter sun. And I am longing to walk around a lot, dreaming of things which will never happen, and spending afternoons at my favourite third floor, on a favourite pillow.

As I was walking rather languorously towards workplace today, I had a nice little reverie consisting of bits and pieces of childhood winters, sticky bowls of Horlicks, and other things which disappear like those waif-like strands of smoke from a post-lunch cigarette.

I love my city too much to even think of such lazy winters elsewhere, and yet there's a distant, very faraway voice( though am rather suspicious of it) which tells me moving out will be an adventure which is a necessity. This sparks off a series of arguments inside my head, so, I shall refrain from pondering.

I do not, absolutely not, have the world sussed out and my heart does not break over that.

It is the season's fault that I am compulsively dreamy, and dangerously susceptible to mood-swings and seriously scatty, so people, please warn me (if you are around) when am crossing the road, or reaching for the salt tub instead of the sugar tub(when cooking). Also, if you have been talking for over ten minutes, and my eyes glaze over, you know whom to blame. =)

Cheers.