I am getting very very tired of the cold. I don't think I've been warm since last September. Or maybe earlier than that. Maybe 2006. You know, before I became the oven to a couple of buns. Don't rush to any conclusions. I'm not yearning for another pregnancy. Just a little warmth.
I think I'm getting old. Or my metabolism is slowing down. Because in my wild youth I don't remember constantly reaching for a sweater. Or a fuzzy purple bathrobe. And thick socks. And slippers. The Cookie Monster ones. And maybe a blanket.
The problem could be the long winter, that I swear started last August. For thriftiness, our programmable thermostat is set for 65 overnight, 67 during the day. I keep finding myself upping it to 68. There's a world of difference between 67 and 68, you know.
Or the problem could be work. I work in a dungeon. The elevator calls it "level 1". Or the basement. Whatever. It's cold down there, and there are no windows. I keep a sweater at my desk. And a blanket. And a large supply of hot tea (never underestimate the warming power of a hot coffee mug). I wear that sweater all year round. I get cold in my car too. Even with my winter coat and a scarf on, I keep the thermostat set at 67 (68 unzipped). And I love seat warmers!
I am ready, oh so ready, for some real heat. To sit outside while the sun broils me from above and the concrete-turned-pizza stone browns me from below. Not that I brown, and not that I spend much time without my SPF 9-Million on. But at least in the summer, I won't need a sweater.