Comforting

I find myself sleeping covered in blankets these days. As one with a severe affection for the chilled, I dislike this sudden want of flannel and fleece to keep my naked body warm during the night. I pile it upon me, layer after layer as if I expect a princess to sit upon me and discover her royal line. Laying unblinkingly in the mid-night, I thought to myself "Perhaps I throw so much down upon me as to not just float away."

Indeed, I have been feeling somewhat untethered to the ground, unfixed my to keepings. I do not enjoy it. As one may surmise, I have a certain taste for adventure, but tedium has its delights as well. Certainly, wandering from place to place leaves you uncertain whether you will be eating that evening or if your rest will involve unforgiving haystacks or a calming yet unmoving rock of some sort.

Sticking to one post is actually quite like me. My father did not travel. Vivienne did, of course, in her "career on the stage and back allies," as she called it, but my father would stay within the same local towns and my mother stayed at home. I know now she resented it, but at the time, I thought it rather pleasant. She would allow me to act out a one man show as I played the Hatter, Hare, and Dormouse all the while in the back of her head she must have been saying, "God damn, Finland is probably beautiful at this time of year."

The traveling began when I left home to find my fortune as it were. Circuses, theatre performance groups, whores, and thieves led me to where I am now: a short walk from somewhere else. Our group is tired these days; half asleep after eighteen hours of pulling ourselves through hog-covered pastures in Scotland or perhaps bustling through the fancy horse-driven cabs in the City. I'm sure I've forgotten.

But the cold that once refreshed me now merely... makes me feel cold. Certainly this winter has only just begun and I know I just haven't the socks to make it through.