(no subject)
First, I am thoroughly upset that O'Malley's is nothing like the one in Stargate. I am also saddened that their portrayal of the Academy is nothing like it really is.
I live here. You know? It's just kind of a let-down to see that they didn't really do their research as far as what the Academy looks like.
Short story!
The first snow of the season started last night. It hasn't yet stopped and it's now mid-morning, though I'm not sure of the exact time. It's the majestic kind of snow where there is no wind or sun. The clouds are indistinguishable from one another, each one the same emotionless gray. The snow sticks to itself, creating the large fluffy clumps you can catch on your tongue. It's like I'm in a giant snowglobe. It keeps falling like feathers floating onto a pillow, adding to the four inch deep untouched layer. Pristine is the word that jumps out at my from my vocabulary.
It's cold. I hate the cold, and I hate when it snows. But I feel so compelled to be a part of this perfection, so I layer over my regular clothes with a coat, gloves, and my waterproof boots. I consider a hat, but I decide against it. I don't want to redo my hair.
I take another look out the window at the softly falling snow. I push away my feelings of foreboding. The snow is evil, I concede, but I am determined to a fault. I open the door and step into the frigid air. It's sharp but I keep going. I take a few slow, cautious steps and stop, throwing back my head and sticking out my tongue like a child in the snow for the first time.
I shift my weight and do not take into account the possibility of invisible ice under the snow, plotting against whoever might come its way.
This was not my first mistake, though it was by far the greatest of the last hour.
I feel myself slipping and can't stop it.
I tried.
I failed.
Crash.
Damn.
I hate snow.
I live here. You know? It's just kind of a let-down to see that they didn't really do their research as far as what the Academy looks like.
Short story!
The first snow of the season started last night. It hasn't yet stopped and it's now mid-morning, though I'm not sure of the exact time. It's the majestic kind of snow where there is no wind or sun. The clouds are indistinguishable from one another, each one the same emotionless gray. The snow sticks to itself, creating the large fluffy clumps you can catch on your tongue. It's like I'm in a giant snowglobe. It keeps falling like feathers floating onto a pillow, adding to the four inch deep untouched layer. Pristine is the word that jumps out at my from my vocabulary.
It's cold. I hate the cold, and I hate when it snows. But I feel so compelled to be a part of this perfection, so I layer over my regular clothes with a coat, gloves, and my waterproof boots. I consider a hat, but I decide against it. I don't want to redo my hair.
I take another look out the window at the softly falling snow. I push away my feelings of foreboding. The snow is evil, I concede, but I am determined to a fault. I open the door and step into the frigid air. It's sharp but I keep going. I take a few slow, cautious steps and stop, throwing back my head and sticking out my tongue like a child in the snow for the first time.
I shift my weight and do not take into account the possibility of invisible ice under the snow, plotting against whoever might come its way.
This was not my first mistake, though it was by far the greatest of the last hour.
I feel myself slipping and can't stop it.
I tried.
I failed.
Crash.
Damn.
I hate snow.