A friend of mine got married the other day and it rained. I don't know if that changes anything. Perhaps it wasn't something so tenuous. I find myself constantly theorising - as is my way of living - and making life quantifiable. I'm cataloguing days and events into boxes; tidy rows of visibly sensible information. Sometimes there is so much going on that it's easy to take the things you want out of life and show a pattern. Such persuasiveness lies behind numbers. Then again, sometimes I can't help but think that there must be no reality to assumptions of fate and right and occurances. Isn't it all just immeasurable? Every little detail of every single life can't possibly follow a track. Saying that, if you mix every colour it always becomes brown so is everything brown? You'd say no, but I'm guessing it's not so visually apparent.
The seasons changed the other day. I just wanted to note it because no-one ever does. People always disagree with me when I tell them we are moving to a new front and they do this because they are unwilling to change so soon. They don't understand that it is a progression. It just went from 100% summer to 1% autumn, that's all. It's a change nonetheless and it was combined with my having the cold and it made me feel so very cool; chilled right through at the thought. I can always tell the change in the season by the change in myself and my pinings and last week I thought of fires and warmth and the first christmas eve alone with Stuart and the stillness of it all like such a voyage was never made before. I thought of the start of university in 2005 when everything was changing and I relished change then. Every time I go back to those mornings at five to ten, walking through frosty campus in a black duffle coat, what you would call 'hungover' but I would call at ease. I'd walk up through the part of campus with the fake stream and the grass and the trees with the leaves falling and the water clogged with shades of brown. The sun is always shining, and my face is cold. Sometimes I try to recreate these feelings when I walk out now but all I can get is the memory and it is unchanged. I'm not the same person now and I know I'll never feel that way again.
Today I woke up from under the blanket but ontop of the duvet and it was cool and I walked to the living room finding it odd that I didn't go straight to the kitchen (straight to doing) and the room was so chilled that I knew my cold hadn't served to alter my perceptions and autumn was welcoming me in the pale light of this morning. It was as if it was being persuasive just for me, it knew I needed this.
On Sunday we are going to Tenerife and I've never been on a 'summer' holiday so late in the year. I'm a bit worried about the schism of it being autumn here but I've vowed to act like it's a reprive and I am on pause so it will be alright. Once I'm back I think I will feel at ease with myself once more. Summer is like that bad friend at school and you want to feel daring but once you've had it you know you need to go back to your own. The winter months are my own, I'm a child of November and it's all I really know.