Cold Hands

When I stop to think about it, these walls are rather rough. One can easily scrape themselves upon it if rubbing hard enough. The room is a little more bare and less stimulating than what I would prefer, but sometimes, you need to work with what you have. I know what I can tell you-- it's cold. This room is ridiculously and obnoxiously freezing. My toes are going numb and I need to revert my hands away from this old, dusty cheap-looking keyboard so my fingers do not lose feeling. It is especially challenging to press the 'C' down, due to the soda I spilled on it last year. I hate cold. The snow outside is pleasing to the eye, but here is the way I describe it; A Boston Cream doughnut filled with mayonnaise instead of actual cream. It gives nice feeling inside, like longing to eat it, of course. You have high expectations from the looks of the object, but once you bite into it, you're going to be gagging, I promise you. That, to me is the idea of snow. Outside looks beautiful, like a work of art. The ideally large snow-flakes dance as the wind pushes them against my window, and then they fall to the earth to collect with the rest of the fallen ice crystals to make the world an ever-colder place. However, mere looks don't make me want to go outside to take a nap in the sun. No thanks. I can see the dirty, brown slush through all of the white fluff, there is no fooling me. You will not catch me out there. So, in here, I will stay. In my bedroom that is only warm enough for habitance.