Go Look Up Babel... Now

So cold! The weather has morphed from the loving calm that sailed through the beginning of the week to this she-demon force that rails wind and rain upon us. I'm watching the weather from my desk through the side doors and I do not want to leave here to go to class. The rain is falling in a sheet at a 45 degree angle. A 45 degree sheet, I stress! I have no umbrella. Is class all that essential in the long run, I ask you? I think not. But, we're discussing Babel today in Russian. He is quite the trip - funny and morbidly depressing all at the same time. Isaac Babel, go look him up. Right now. (I can see you not moving. Shoo!) For him, I will head out into this - it's not as though I don't like rain. It's nice to wander in when it's warm and lovely to listen to at all seasons indoors - but it's cold. I don't want to walk in it, just listen to it - especially since I'm going to get dripping wet and then have to squelch through class. Sorry, this is becoming perilously close to a whine. I will close before I descend into a sulk or - horrors! - a whinge.

Never Say Never

I hate being cold. This is no surprise to anyone who knows me or has read too many of my blogs. Yet I realised today, as I marched towards the bus freezing my nose off, that I never feel so vibrantly alive as I do in the cold. The shape of my lungs as the ice slips through them, the curve of my nose, the arch of my cheekbones reddening in the cold, my fingers and toes and ears tingling down to the marrow, everything seems immediate.

I hate being cold, but I think I might miss it if I could never be cold again.

Weather Wise

I hate not having an internet connection all my own. Sigh. Once more here's what I wrote yesterday, but didn't get to post.

Post for 01/16:

The weather's turned bitter on us out here. This weekend it was as a fair maiden smiling upon os, but the maiden suddenly has a raging hate on and I am so, so cold. I'm not sure what the temperature is, but I don't think it would matter, it's that wind. It had a two-pronged attack this wind. First, wraps around you in constant tiny gustlings so that you never have a chance to get warmer and then, once weakened, it throws sharp and lengthy waves of cold air against you, stripping away any little pockets of warmth you might still possess. It is a sneaky wind, sly thing, and I don't want to have to leave my cozy, warm abode for my evening class. It's certain to sneak along behind me and freeze everything.

Nor Wind, Nor Rain, Nor Lack of Heater

I hate being cold. With every fiber of my being. When I told my parents that I was considering going to Boston for college, they laughed and laughed while imagining me refusing to attend classes on the principle that if water has the good sense to become ice at a certain temperature we should probably have the common sense to stay indoors. One of the numbers on my pro-con list of moving to Oklahoma was: It's got to be warmer than Illinois. Why do I mention this, you ask?

The heater at work stopped working yesterday.

Yes, indeed, I went to work early in the morning yesterday, refused to take off my coat in the Reference office for that shift, then kicked the mini space heater up to dangerous levels at the Information desk, and finally - in an act that clearly represents my bravery and dedication - I went back to work this morning. A workplace that has no heat.

No. Heat.

I begin wearing my heavy coat in September. I have three sets of gloves/scarves/hats that I have been known to wear all at the same time. My only problem with my first roommate? My sincere belief that she was part polar bear as illustrated by our tussles over the thermostat. My father claims that if he set me on fire at noon on a humid day, I would still complain of a draft. When the southern baptists at my old high school would tell me that we were all going to hell, my favorite quip was that at least I would finally be warm.

I'm still thawing as I huddle under two blankets with a cup of gingerbread coffee at my feet. The spirit is mildly willing to brave these conditions, but it's easily hounded to death by the flesh smashing it over the head with a placard that reads "The hell are we doing here, woman?! It's cold!" My pay stub cannot compete with a profane placard.

I have the day off tomorrow, which is good because I'm not sure I could make myself enter a building again that doesn't inspire one to remove any layers. Though, I should probably stop looking for prospective jobs in Chicago - any place called the Windy City is most likely a bad sign. I wonder how the book editing biz is in New Mexico?