Alcohol doesn't actually warm people up... does it?

The last few days have been painfully cold.  I can't remember the last time my feet were warm.  I'm still procrastinating on taking that shower because I don't want to strip.  If anything, I should be putting more clothes on.  I should be wearing a grizzly bear.  That's how cold it is.  Even as I type this, I can hear my brethren in Tasmania laugh at me.  I can feel half chewed pieces of apple splat across my face in contempt.  Laugh, oh you southern dwellers, but this is cold weather for Queensland.

Things have been crazy lately.  Actually, when was the last time things weren't crazy?  I am behind on my promise to have Wolfie's stuff read and back to him.  I've got 30 pages to read.  The story itself is awesome, and scary, but mostly awesome.  It's just hard to read on computers.  So many....

Squirrel!

Talking about squirrels, I have been rather inactive on fictionpress, and I thought I might take to fleshing out Woodsman.  Here's what I've written so far: 

The markets in Hastington shrank with each passing year as the Black Forest grew to claim the settlements in the area.  Still, there was business enough even for a young woodsman like Stephen Theiss, who, at fifteen, still hadn’t quite finished growing into the man he would become.  His dark brown locks fell to his eyes and curled around his wide eyes were the colour of moss on bark.  He was lean, but well built to survive the forest, and wore a coat of rusty coloured fur over a simple tunic and breeches to ward against the morning chill.