Insulation

Winter.

The sky is crisp like a chip packet. 

it makes my skin feel sharp and brittle. The ice planes on the cheeks of my exposed face are as close as it comes to frost around here, it never drops below freezing  — even at night, although I often feel like it does.

I think that the space that I've found myself occupying of late  isn't very well insulated.  

If I were to guess, Id reckon that's why I feel so cold all the time.  

Not that there's anything wrong  with being cold; more often than not I prefer it.
After all, when the wind presses against my face, and hands are stiff and breath white,  I sometimes get a sudden,  unforeseen, euphoric adrenaline rush which comes with a kind of high brought on by the pain pf the cold air on my exposed skin.

In those moments, I get this feeling, deeply, somewhere inside of my  own self.  

It happens physically, in my stomach, like the kind of fluttery butterflies that you  might get when excited, but stronger, so that I can feel nervous excitement through my whole torso, and it grows in my chest until its so strong that I think I can hear my own heart beating — and in those moments, I know what it means feel the visceral joy of being alive in the world. 

But there is a different kind of cold that comes creeping in, the kind that's not sharp and prickling and joyous at all,  but the kind that seeps into your mind  before you ever realise that its there, and you can’t  get warm no matter how many jumpers you put on,  because its not around you, but inside of you.  

Its dull, and constant, and I know its there.  

I need insulation, so I find myself wanting to stuff every crevice i can reach .

I want to gather thoughts, and Ideas. 
Songs, poems, photos, and accounts of distantly remembered dreams. 

Drawings, and paintings, and words. 

And words. words and 

                                 words and words

                                                                                       and words. 

the messy heap of creative garbage that is born of the human mind.

I want to unwrap it all, every tiny bit that I can reach,  like a bail of itchy earthwool ceiling insulation and pack it between my walls, so that the cold might be held at bay, and I might still be warm enough to venture out into the winter, and feel the icy air in my lungs, and revel in the wonder of that day. 

footnote:

A lot of other people Ive met have installed frosting over their windows, instead of bothering with insulation.

or, i sometimes wonder, perhaps their parents had it installed for them when they were very young, and they haven't had the chance to see outside since they were small. 

                                                    "Purchase frosting for your child's world view, from an upstanding private school near you."

After all, if you cant see that its cold outside, then I suppose its not cold at all.