Baby, it’s a straight up thunderstorm outside
Up until about an hour ago, Melbourne had a tornado warning. Hailstones have been falling from the sky, and I’ve seen them described as golf-ball/grape/grapefruit/lemon-sized all over the Internet. I took a video of the first hailstorm, so gleeful and excited was I to see these crazy weather conditions on Christmas Day. Now it’s raining buckets and thundering. All the lights are on inside and I am home alone. It’s kind of perfect.
I’m on the pullout couch, and I’m watching One Day in fits and starts (it’s pretty boring, but Jim Sturgess is nice to look at). I had a bubble bath just an hour ago, heavy on the bubbles, in a bathroom lit by tealights, listening to Coeur de Pirate and Young the Giant. Three large-ish circles of white in my courtyard tells me I missed the bigger hailstones, but I did wonder if one was going to crash through the bathroom vents while I was soaking in the tub.
I’m feeling a little bit boneless and fragrant, my skin soft from the water and the lotion I’ve put on. I’m working through the eight dozen snickerdoodles I baked the other day, and I’m still full from the two lots of butter chicken and rice I had for lunch. Since my housemates are all away, I’ve been walking around the house with no pants on, the ultimate luxury. Yesterday I had the air conditioning on pretty much non-stop. I’ve been talking to myself a lot more, singing louder and laughing a lot harder.
There’s some pretty morose shit happening on my social networks, both related and unrelated to the current festivities. Christmas is a complicated time. In a way I’m kind of happy I can buy out of the holiday, simply because I’ve never been brought up to celebrate it. I’m glad for the happy updates though, and I hope the sad ones ease up before the entire holiday is over. I wish there were more people online I could talk to, because I want a little company but not if it means they’re in my house and/or I have to put my pants on. But you can’t have everything, I suppose.
