This Texas blood isn't meant to be frozen

Write right now. Right write now. I can't write right write now. I can't write right now, right? Right, I can't write. Write? no... right. My jumbled mind is dancing. I blame it on air conditioning. Sixty degrees inside flushes my face, transforms my nose to a cherry red, hunches my shoulders, changes the skin on my arm to the chicken variety, and I shake uncontrollably. It makes my mind wander but not in the typical elegant way, where words come easily to express the flow of thoughts... instead I ramble and shiver. Is it necessary to have the temperature this low. Am I write? Right. My god.