I’m in the library, writing a long post about a poem analysis–which in all luck will be making an appearance in a day or two–and there is one random thought that keeps pumping through my head, disrupting the flow of words.
Dang it, I’m freezing.
Of course, I’m not literally freezing, but it feels like I am. There seems to be some rule that the campus can’t turn on any heaters when students are present. It’s cold in all my classes. I have to layer up, and I nearly never take my heavy coat off if I can help it.
In the english classrooms, it’s colder inside than it is in the hallways. In fact, depending on where one is stitting, it’s possible to feel the airconditioner still blowing on you. Good thing the air vent isn’t right above my desk.
Sitting on the third floor of the library, near the windows so that I can have a poweroutlet for my laptop, I can look down on all the students walking between classes. And I don’t understand who so many of them can be without coats. I get cold just looking at someone with bare arms. It seems so unfair to me, as they seem to be oblivious to the cold.
The only good thing going today is that it’s not overcast, and it’s not windy, so hopefully I won’t freeze when I venture out for lunch with my friend in an hour or so.
But tonight, when I walk home from the bus stop? I’m sure it will be both, which will chill me to the bone until I crawl into bed. I hate being cold.
Odd then, that winter is my favorite season.
-”Reason to Believe,” Dusk and Summer: Dashboard Confessional
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