Severely unrelated thoughts
Warwick looks like someone's emptied a cosmic saltshaker over campus. In the late afternoon, I pressed my face against the ice-cold window and watched the drifting static through glass that violently steamed over with even the lighest, most feathered exhalation. In the fading twilight, I crunched handfuls of these rare crystals in my bare fingers, until my hands numbed into useless lumps of frozen flesh, and when I stepped indoors, it was thrilling to shake the bright white clumps from my hair and grind them with vicious delight into the carpet.
Snow!
It seems to me that if a banker banks, and a writer writes, and a dealer deals, then logically, a panther should panth, a tiger should tig, and most of all, my finger should fing. Though I spent many minutes lost in profound contemplation, I am at a loss as to what panthing, tigging and finging is, someone inform me.
A final word. I thought that I would go out for a run after dinner, then I thought, no, I'll get appendicitis if I run after eating. Pause. Then I thought, Rachel doesn't have an appendix anymore. Then I thought, it's 0 degrees outside.
So I'm here, writing this instead.