Snoqualmie

Balls off up in this piece.

It is cold as anything in Portland right now. It may hit 60 today for the first time in several days, but tomorrow it's back down again. And there's this nasty northerly wind that's been going straight through my clothes and just about blew me off an overpass yesterday. Today I am wearing, from toe to head, boots, hiking socks, jeans, a wifebeater, a long-sleeve button-down shirt, a thick sweater, my long winter coat, and a scarf, and it is still cold. And it is the first of October.

That part of this weekend which I did not spend fruitlessly looking for vegan shoes (about which please note that this town has vegan tattoo shops and vegan bars and vegan convenience stores, but no vegan shoe stores), I spent sitting in bed with the covers over my feet, crocheting. I don't have blankets enough for this weather. Even in my fuzzy feet pajamas, with the covers pulled up to my nose, sneakily warming my toes around my stubbornly non-snuggling cat, I wake up in the middle of the night shivering and looking for more layers. I should have written off the shoes and spent the weekend quilt-hunting instead, but I had the impression that the rain on my feet was going to be a bigger problem than the cold on my freezing metaphorical balls. This is incorrect. Rain doesn't follow you inside. Cold follows you everywhere.

Oh, and I tried on a fucking phenomenal fuzzy sweater this weekend, in that 1970s chocolate brown that just wraps itself around you and says I Am Your Grandmother's Sofa, but couldn't buy it because it had angora in it. Silly people. Rabbits are not for sweaters.