No Sympathy

When I woke up this morning, the outside temperature was in the 30s, and all four of our resident cats had sought refuge on the bed, creating a big, warm human-and-cat pile. Yes, our heat pump is on, but that little electric contraption is no match for sub-freezing temperatures. This sort of weather needs a big, bellowing gas furnace to keep the cold at bay.

The sad thing is, I get no sympathy when I complain to family and friends back home. Right now, as I type this, it's 19 degrees in Chicago. Instead of looking out at palm trees and green grass, they're starting at a barren waste land. Eventually (although it might take days) it will warm up into the 70s here. Their "warm up" there will probably be in the 40s. I'm sure they'd trade places with me in a heartbeat.

Of course, my concept of "cold" is very skewed now, since my once Heinz-ketchup-thick blood has thinned out to the consistency of cherry Kool-Aid. I handle the heat and humidity like a pro, but let the mercury drop below 70 and I'm shivering like I'm at the North Pole.

I guess I should be grateful that no matter how cold it gets, it's unlikely that I'll ever seen snow again, outside of the theme parks, the Gaylord Palms snow event, or the "snoap" that rained down from the light posts nightly in Downtown Celebration for the holiday season. I just hope things warm up here before January 21, or these brave souls doing the Polar Plunge at SeaWorld might just end up floating around encased in blocks of ice. Me? I'll be the one in the Eskimo parka cheering them on from the sides.