I have an electric blanket. That makes it very difficult for me to get out of bed. My room is a bit cold and the heaters haven’t been turned on. So I snuggle up in my electirc blanketed warm bed and it feels like I’m back in the womb. Warm and wet. Wet because I don’t get up to use the bathroom.
Its getting cold, but I haven’t said it out loud. Not because I haven’t noticed, but because i’m saving it for the right time. I’m saving my words for the time when it gets so cold no one can deny it anymore. I’m waiting for the time when it really needs to be said because no one in New York ever brings attention to the fact its cold. You’ll never hear a New Yorker utter the words “Its getting cold” or “Boy, is it cold” or “Cold enough for ya?” No one ever acknowledges that the winter’s here are rough. People walk around like there’s nothing wrong. Only I have the courage to bring attention to the elephant in the room.
So that way when I’m standing in the street with someone and we are shivering and our teeth are chattering and we’re turning some shade of purple (the black version of turning blue) and icickles are forming on our face like we’re trapped in a freezer in a cartoon, I’ll finally look up into the sky and say “Fuck! Its Fucking cold!” And I’ll go inside with the warmth of knowing someone said it.