Sheets of rain cascade down my bedroom window. At night, my blanket had haphazardly fallen off my bed leaving my bare legs exposed to the chill of the morning air. I frantically furrow myself underneath my soft jersey bedding to conserve precious body heat. There may not be snow, but I’m definitely not immune to the chill of California winters. It’s strange how easily people adapt to their surroundings. No more than a year ago had I trekked through rain and snow in temperatures that plummeted to negative degrees to get to school each morning. Hats, scarves, and gloves dampened by the misery of the outdoors filled the front walkway. Boots and coats lined with fur neatly ordered or hung up in the closet. Tissues and chapsticks in every pocket of every sweatshirt, jacket, and overcoat in case of emergency. Now I put on those same winter coats every time the weather drops below 65.
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