Head Hurts

Today is a Sunday, one of my favorite days because it's yellow and not the day I run errands. Yes, my noggin has an imaginary band tightened around at the temples, I am the one always to resist taking an aspirin which is odd considering that I perfectly understand how chemicals can be helpful. Wait a minute; brb as they say, there is some St. Joseph baby aspirin in the cupboard. One wouldn't make me an addict. Hang on.

Yesterday's shopping brought home a tiny set of four nail polishes, on sale 70% off and candy-colored. Now, my nails are clipped short and never grew well, wearing nail polish feels like each finger is in a straitjacket, and you know, I can't get the hang of even coats or of not puddling the excess between fingernail and finger. But you know me and rosy pink colors. Oh, if my nails glistened like a translucent strawberry, like snapdragons after rain, like sunset in the southern ocean skies, well baby, that is a sort of living reserved for the ethereal. So you know I tried.

Last night I applied the darkest ruby shimmer to my left hand with my reading glasses on in a room semi-lit by the still here Christmas tree. After crashing into various objects mostly cats, I went to bed, removed my contacts, and got a close look at the mess. It looked like bloody warfare with cat hair punctuation. Besides, it gave me that icky, tight sensation on my nails; I got the polish remover and whoa nelly, the stuff turned black upon the cotton ball when wiped away. What the heck? The edges of cuticles and hangnails retained the deep red while areas of my nails took on a blackish cast. This is usually how my day goes.

Today I was lured in by the cotton candy pink bottle, and thought well, why not. Now my nails look as if I have an unhealthy warmish disease with the edges still dyed a faint ruby. But only on the left hand, so maybe you won't notice. Not for me, is this nail polish stuff, and I have to get over it and accept that.

Hey, my headache is gone.

Today has seen some sun, which is nice when the mercury dips down to single digits. An Alberta Clipper has come in, bringing with it some of the clearest, most nourishing cold air you could breathe. Kai and I stuck our faces to the outside when I cracked a window open and the two degree air just mounded over the sill and down the wall to the floor. Fresh and oxygenated, both of us shivered not from cold but from the backbone wilds of the Canadian mountains, whose essence tumbled into the room before I eased the sliding window shut.

There is a lentil soup in a pot, and soon the sun will appear to be spinning downwards to the horizon. The night, with its mysteries and lamps comes soon enough. Would we sleep deeper, if there were still men in the night calling out the hours, with reassurances that all was well? Burrow deep, stay warm. Good night.