don’t eat the yellow snow

“don’t eat the yellow snow,”

I saw this golden piece of advice written on a postcard and chuckled to myself at how childish and ridiculous it was.

seeing how I’m currently galivanting through the Baltics at sub zero temperatures, that indeed sounded like pertinent advice.

I filed it for later use.

every once in a while I’d see a dog walking through the snow and, as if Pavlov himself had conditioned me, I remembered to giggle.

“don’t eat the yellow snow,”
bwah!

today I boarded a ferry that washed me away from cold and dark Helsinki to cold and dark Tallinn.
I’ve had spiced mulled wine and hot chocolate with Baileys,
I’ve carried half my body weight on my back for most of the day and am now sat in my hotel room, overlooking a frozen river who’s name I can’t pronounce, listening to my partner’s rhythmic snoring, thinking about yellow snow…

most of my life I’ve been trying to convince myself of some deeper truth, when there wasn’t one.

we’re all different the same way,
navigating many competing obligations and distractions,
living through each other’s point of view because we fear not being accepted,
explaining, understanding and justifying everything in order to feel safe and important.

and yet, all we want is to know that it’s going to be alright in the end.

lighten up, it’s not that deep.

just don’t eat the yellow snow.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

today is day 8 of the year, there are 357 days remaining of 2022.