The Apocalyptic Nature of the Nowhere Days Between Christmas and the New Year

Back in Brighton now, in those strange dead days between Christmas and the New Year.
First post-Christmas day at work today. Outside of the window, the horizon vanishing into fog, buildings disappearing into the white. Made the call centre building seem like an impossibly high tower. A call centre for the apocalypse; putting money away for acid rainy days, a customer service team for Armageddon...
Strangely warm too, and this, mixed with the fog fading everything, as if the buildings have committed such grave offences against the season, that December must make the disappear, combines to give the days a dream-like feel... Ghosts of Spring, and not spoken to anyone, apart from Em, since I returned. Only got back yesterday, feels like years, a decade of yesterdays, and before Christmas seems generations back, an infinity of myths and legends ago...
(...walking the Old Shoreham Road after dark, afraid of the sea, walking by the Engineerium, listening to 69 Eyes, Destroyer 666 and Svarte Greiner, walking the freezing blackness, waiting for the snow, for the alarm in the mornings, counting the days down till Christmas...)
Time-lapsed, and oddly disorientated, I think; it is nine years next month since I started work at the petrol station, and in a fever of failed maths GCSE delirium cannot work out if nine years would be closer to a quarter or a third of my life so far...