Alarm goes off. Church bells ring joyously in the air, over and over, on repeat. I am starting to hate the sound of church bells.
"Uuuuuugggghhhhh". I can't help it. It's so early.
"Whiner", says Dave.
"Shut up. You get to stay in bed for another oh, HOUR. I have to get up and further my creativity by writing all my deepest, darkest thoughts first thing in the morning. Honestly, all my brain is saying right now is eff you to the whole thing." Sigh.
And so I pull myself out of my super warm bed (1 duvet, 1 comforter, 1 quilt, 1 lighter blanket), and write. My hands start to lose feeling and my feet turn to ice. My thoughts on the page begin to resemble what a hypothermia patient might write about just before death. Fire and brimstone maybe. I curse my landlord for his green living, energy saving heating system. We sleep in an attic in a house that is close to 100 years old. Essentially, there are no walls around us, they are paper thin.
I finish my writing for the morning. Look at my clock. Damn! I was hoping to be able to snuggle under those covers for a bit longer before I have to take myself down the stairs and into the washroom. I stare longingly at the bed and stick my tongue out at a snoring Dave as I stumble down the steps. Cats tripping me the whole way down as if they have not had a morsel of food in centuries.
Feed the cats. Sit in the kitchen because two of them like to bully the third away from her food. Damage control for sibling rivalry. The kitchen is a small space where patio doors take up almost one wall. Patio doors do nothing to keep out the cold. I sit hunched over, hands in between my legs or in my armpits, rocking back and forth. Cursing Mikah to hurry up and eat already.
Cats finish their breakfast, smacking their lips in satisfaction, stretching to prepare for the next nap. I stare at them longingly as I make my way towards the bathroom. Brace myself: this is the coldest room in the house. There have been days in the dead of winter that my shampoo and conditioner have frozen in their bottles, and I have to hold them under the boiling water of the shower to thaw them out. Even thawed, they are freezing on my head. Tile and more tile act as a cold conduit, with nowhere to escape. I dread the toilet. I dread brushing my teeth. The water never heats up enough to be comfortable. The window beside me as I wash my face blows my hair slightly in the breeze coming through the cracks. This is an old house. We are aware of this, but never get used to the frigidness.
Back up the stairs to get dressed. Quicker than you can blink pajamas come off and clothes go on. Layers on layers. It does not do to linger, on account of that hypothermia I mentioned earlier. Dressed. Yes! Ready to start my day now. Looking forward to a nice walk in the snow and a steaming hot cup of tea when I get to work.
Glance at Dave and snicker. His alarm has gone off, and he is whinging about having to get out of bed. Into the cold.
I don't envy that.
