What the--: Part Deux (the previously unposted second part of saga)

Walked outside not long after I drove in this morning. The sun was shining. Apparently the entire winter weather built up into one tizzy of an outburst and then, catharsis past, was fine. Granted, it's still colder outside than the middle of an oven-cooked turkey. My skin cells are traumatized. The micro world on my flesh is in complete shock. I think it's the deception more than anything, though.

My eyes look outside through a window and see blue sky, white clouds, and bright sun. My brain records this vision and sends a message to my outer limbs in the voice of the impeccable James Earl Jones, "It's alright, little guys. Looks like its gonna be warm trails from here on out. Be cool, nerve endings. Stay calm, hair follicles. Prepare for Vitamen D absorption."

My skin's like, "Sweet! Bout time. Right-O, old chap." (Some of my hair follicles have bad English accents. I blame myself.)

And then I step outside.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaargh! Freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeze. Retreeaaaaaaat. Bloody 'ell it's nippy out here."

And my armpits are like, "What's that? Sweat? Alright."

And so there I am with slightly damp armpits and screaming skin and, to top all of it off, bits of water are being blown by wind at my face, in my eyes, into my ear. Freezing water. I'm being pelted by freezing water.

My nose falls off. "Leave the nose! Take cover in the cafeteria," screams my skin. "Bollocks the nose!" screams my dick-van-dyke-circa-Mary-Poppins-hair follicles.

"I like smelling!" I cry. Running like a maniac, my nose convulsing on the icy concrete, I grab up the nostril-clad limb and stick it on. "Ew, smells a bit like frozen goose pooh," I say.

Ah, finally the warmth. I stand under the heater vent--and my entire body catches on fire. "Ooh. Bit too warm." Because if you get warm too quick after you come in from outside your skin tries to separate from your innards. Luckily your innards have internal staplers and pushpins so when your skin tries to retreat your muscles are just like, "oop, this bit's coming undone, I think. Gimme another one of the clear ones, bicept."

"Why the clear ones?"

"I like them best."

"Only got green ones left."

"That's it?"

"Yeah, sorry. The cheeks stole all the clear ones."

"Those bastards. Well, here. Gimme a green one. Thanks. Oh! It's not even real green. It's that weird lime color."

And then I look back at this draft of an entry and post it anyway.

currently: moderately nostalgic

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