So cold in the morning I can see ice crystals hovering mid-air.
So cold in the kitchen that steam rises from freshly washed dishes drying on the rack.
Last week I was lying by the pool, not a thing to do. Seventy degrees and sunny in Palm Springs.
This week I feel that I must get out of the house, do something, anything, everything I can, just to stave of the mounting panic. This week I feel trapped, like a nesting doll, inside layer upon layer of confinement. Trapped inside because of the cold. Trapped under a thick city-wide blanket of toxic smog. Trapped in a web of my own anxious thoughts. Etc.