Sound awake

Winter breathes above my shoulder. After October comes January, and blurriness in between. Take what's yours, but spare my life. I will be vending frozen poles for tongue-sticking and surgical scissors. Two for the price of two. No discount. This is life. My hair is covered with snow; when the last snowflake melts, I will catch a cold so that I have an excuse to grab an extra cup of tea with ginger, lemon, and honey. My snowman is too anatomically correct, and I had to cover him with a cloak. The carrot was stolen by a local gang of rabbits. Therefore, I replaced the gaping hole with a 40-watt incandescent light bulb. Now I'm calling it an olfactory bulb. My neighbors claim it fluoresces at night, strictly between 1 and 4 a.m. I wonder what makes them stay awake this late. Also, I pointed out to them that if this observation is not a product of their imagination, the bulb would rather phosphoresce but definitely not fluoresce. Finally, curiosity took over me, and I stayed awake the whole night last Saturday, watching my snowman from a kitchen window. Probably, the bulb had blown out: I saw nothing. Only at some point, closer to dawn, the snowman winked at me with his coal eye. I woke up in bed in the morning, comfortably tucked into a waffle blanket. Belgian waffles with maple syrup and black coffee for breakfast. I keep forgetting, do I have to hurry somewhere today?