Frigid

For the last week I've been leaving for work with sweatshirt in hand and bag on shoulder to face a day of sub-zero weather on the 5th floor of the HFAC. I bundle up my body and hunker down in my desk as I check off my list of daily tasks. By the time I leave, my WPM have fallen to a measly 30 and I no longer have the capacity to clench my fists. It's like a frozen lethargy consumes me. (You'd think I was cold blooded or something). My boss must be in the midst of an series of episodic hotflashes because she always looks over and asks me if I'm hot. Hot?! No. No, I just lost feeling in my toes.

Getting in the car is always the highlight of my afternoon. Sun-baked and steaming, I open the car door and let the heat rising of the seats slowly thaw out my ice-cube body. When I get home the first thing I do is change into something warmer. And then I spend the next hour or so wishing I was back in my temporary bedroom upstairs at my parent's house where the scorching heat never relents.