It's been raining most of the afternoon, and I have spent most of my time huddled in the floor of my bedroom beneath a purple blanket. Reading 1984. It couldn't have been helped. The rain demanded it of me. Only, now it has gone and I've laid my book aside.

Cold lingers about my room despite the blanket's attempts to ward it off of me.Somehow it has found my feet. The cold- not the blanket. The blanket prefers being draped over my head.

Dimly, my eyes hurt as I listen to the sound of Uncle Cha Cha drone softly on my stereo. Deva was right, it lacks soul. It's pretty though, and it reminds me of the rain. Which has left me.