Okay, friends. It's super freaking cold.
It's been really cold and not just outside, but here in The Penthome. I usually handle cold pretty well. Just throw on some pants and one of my many blankets and I'm good.
You see . . . my building is old enough and crappy enough that everyone is on the same heat/cold vents. That means I don't have crazy gas or electric bills, but also means my body temperature is at the whim of my landlord.
I haven't seen my landlord's car in a few weeks. So I'm thinking maybe they moved and forgot to turn the heat on. Because I don't even hear it running.
Of course, when I'm awake, I'm usually listening to something. Maybe I'm just not hearing it.
Whatever the case, what has worked for seven other winters just ain't cutting it this year. I can't sit at the keyboard without my fingers turning to ice.
So today I finally bought a space heater. And now the cat and I are both huddled around the two inches of heat it seems to be producing. This side is warm. Now let's get the other side toasty. What's that smell? Is it burnt hair?
Maybe I should have spent more than twenty bucks. Or I guess I could call the landlord . . .