
My heat is broken at my house. Funny how after silver place two years ago, and grainger last year, I told myself that I didn't care if I had to f-ing STARVE, I was not going to be cold. End of discussion.
And here I am. Standing straddled over Samantha's gas heater to type this. Ridiculous.
As you can see, in order to study I need my buddies Starbuds, Jack, and Sampson lined up and in position. Its not just physically being cold...it like the opposite of thriving. Its like, making it. Just barely making it.
I have my down northface boots on, a t-shirt, long underwear shirt, and fleece on, and I've finished the pictured whiskey... and I'm still cold. Hey. This is the tough getting going.


