ice for the drinks

My hands won't warm up today. Maybe it started when I walked this morning from my car with a heavy bag of diet coke and what else? I don't even want to try to remember what all I bought last night for the birthday party today. The bag was heavy and I had to keep switching hands. Since then I have been cold. I keep a clingy darkheathergray sweater on the back of my office chair. When it's on I think to myself that if I cut a few holes at the end of the sleeves I could pull them down past my palms. If I sewed the ends closed. I'm not going to say I am not tempted. I never used to be this way--I used to have fire in my fingers. I worry that this is a hallmark of getting-closer-to-thirty, but this is stupid. I know I'm still doing well because I can blow up ten balloons in short order and still have the air to laugh about the way I become a living ball of static--me with my sweater and thin, flying hair and shuffling feet and balloons all around.