Oh man, it’s hot in here.
The awesome thing about my apartment is that utilities (minus electric) are included in the rent, and are thus at a fixed and predictable rate. And since the heat is gas, I don’t have to worry about opening a savings account just for winter heat.
Aside from the fact that gas heat is dry heat and dry heat makes me crazy (See Snap, Crackle and Pop post), it is also controlled by the building owners and not by me.
Hey – there are a lot of super awesome things about being the first floor apartment on the outer perimeter of the building. Like I have windows, which means my cats have windows, which means my cats are happy. When my cats are happy, they tend to puke on my personal belongings less. But since I’m on the first floor, it is my sacred duty to endure the inconsistent and trying heat waves that are necessary for the higher floors to be heated sufficiently.
And quite frankly, it blows.
It’s raining outside. It’s not even a particularly cold rain. But if something is falling from the sky, my heat is on. So here I am, considering renting out my living room as a Bikram Yoga space and stripping down to as little as possible without feeling like a hussy because every single window in my place is open and the predominantly orthodox Jew population in my neighborhood can see my sauna from the sidewalk.
I’m really thankful for heat. I am. I think it’s great that I never have to worry about whether or not I’ll have a warm place to stay in the winter. It’s just that after so many months of waking up with super-static powers, a mouth so dry I can barely move my tongue, sweaty sheets, and high-pitched whistles of gas heat singing me to sleep, I’m just a little jaded.
Okay I have to go now.
The heat of the laptop on my legs is testing my tolerance and I shall surely throw it across the room soon. ♣