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.
1 comment:
I have tried twice in as many days to comment on this post, but both times things messed up. what I hope I can say this time is: you are making it. this deserves the kind of celebration no one can describe but everyone feels the edges of when they hear music in the distance, or watch the sun going down over sea, etc. that you are barely making it ... eh. there's probably a larger margin between you and utter devastation (and frostbite proper) than you see ... I can only imagine that we are being kept. I don't feel it, today, which is why I am reminding myself by saying this to you. we are being kept, today, and today, and today. love.
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