It’s too darned cold
It’s too cold.
I was going to try and write a new My Neighbour Errol. It was going to be witty and fun and make people question once again why I am friends with this strange man.
But no, it’s too darned cold.
I was thinking maybe I could wax philosophical about video game stories or anxiety or social injustice. Try and make people think.
Forget that, it’s too cold to think.
Or even a Top 10 list of some sort for 2013, the lazy and easiest way to spew a blog post out.
Screw that. It’s freaking cold.
It’s that time of year. Yes, it’s the time of year when people make fresh starts and promises to improve themselves. That’s a given. But for me, it’s the time of year I question why I continue to live in Canada like a crazy person, the time of year I forget what warm feels like.
Right now in Toronto it is -35 Celcius with the windchill (-31 fahrenheit). For those of you that might not be aware what that sort of cold feels like, it’s in the “so cold it hurts your face” category of cold measurement.
I should be writing grand stories of superhero sidekicks and time travel agents. Instead I am sitting here in my drafty apartment leeching every ounce of warmth from the hot chocolate in my hands as the chill air continues to seep into my bones.
Oh, there are ways I try to cope. I drink vast amounts of tea at work. I have been taking 20 minute showers that my inner environmentalist despairs at. I have turned into a hermit sasquatch of flannel and duvet covers, emerging from my layers only for food and more tea.
But no matter what extreme measures I use, the cold continues to seep into my bones. I may not be absolutely freezing all the time, but there is a constant chill that always settles itself somewhere in my body. It’s cold enough that when I watched a movie that took place in the summer and saw characters prancing around in shorts and summer dresses, I couldn’t fathom them being warm. I felt cold for them.
I realize there are colder places in the world. Heck, one of my cousins is up in the North West Territories teaching where it’s so cold most people can’t leave their houses for a couple of months. But I don’t care. -15? Fine, I’m good. -20? Getting a little chill for my tastes. Anything below that? I become a whiny little bitch.
My floor is cold. My keyboard in my lap is cold. My normally overheated office is cold. Even the clothes on my body get cold if they’re not in direct contact with my skin. And speaking of skin, it is dry and chapped from the extreme temperatures and no amount of moisturizer can save it.
I think of our ancestors who probably huddled around the fire in the long cold, dark nights, imagining the ghosts and wraiths and beasts that lurked outside waiting to steal the warm blooded souls within, and I can totally believe how most of those stories came about. Heck, I imagine them too every night as the wind howls and rattles against my windows.
If it were up to me, I’d be hibernating. Unfortunately, I do need to get creative stuff done. Creative stuff with a deadline. And so I must suck it up, deal with the howly wind and the chapped skin and the chilled bones and the mountains of blankets and the being forced outdoors to traverse to work, and wait for the mythical warmth to come.
Of course, I could also turn on my space heater but SCREW THAT I’M NOT PAYING EXTRA HYDRO.