Black and white

The screen displaying the words I'm typing is mostly white, with a white rectangular input box surrounded by a huge white box framing it. The border of the screen is black, because the cover of my laptop is black, pitch-dark but shiny black because of the reflection of the white flourescent light above it. Yet I feel like this desk is dimly-lighted, because even the white wall behind my laptop seems dark, not gray, but dark white. Beside my laptop where my hands are resting and working simultaneously is a black book that lies closed upon an open journal, the paper a dulled white. I have to read that book, whose pages are a slightly less dull white, but instead I am looking into another shade of white. Were it not for my purely brown desk, this would remind me one hundred percent of my room in Paris, with the wall pitch white and my black laptop with its screen frequently displaying white. Here, at least, there's a window to my right. Look out of it and you see pure black, except for a lone light in the distance, which is nothing but... white. On the wall I have affixed six papers with various kinds of information, all white with black teext. Only the silly putty used to attach four of the papers is yellow. The tissue box is yellow, but my view of it is obscured by the laptop, so most of what I see is white. The small stereo that my uncle gave me a couple Christmases ago, I think the one before college, perhaps, is the same shiny black as my laptop is. An Abstract Algebra textbook, black, but at least buried under books with yellow and blue covers, a picture with a purple frame, and a book called "My Mother Is the Best Gift I Ever Got," whose cover is a faded pink that looks rather white. The modem for the Internet connection in my house is on my desk; to an ant it would look like a skyscraper behemoth. To its left is another shiny black object, this time the router. It at least has the decency to flash blue. Oh, and my mug is black.

Somebody give me some color!