So, Hubby got snowed on during his half-marathon. Snowed on. In Florida. Orlando. Disney. We didn't get snow here, but it was freaking cold.
Today my outdoor thermometer says it's 34 degrees. In Florida. We are not supposed to have so much cold here. I don't know what to do with it. Right this minute I'm staying inside.
I don't intend to step out of the house until it's time to pick up Little Girl from school. Then I have to decide if I'm up for a trip to the gym. I really hate being out in the cold so every walk from car to wherever is bothersome to contemplate. I also hate getting naked in the cold so I haven't showered in a few days either and the idea of making myself more rank than I absolutely have to be is another issue with the gym.
Yes, the house is heated. The thermostat says 72 degrees. But I'm still cold. There's still a somewhat wet chill in the air. Do you think it would be too horrible to heat the house up to approximately 80 degrees so I could have a comfortable shower? Yeah, me too.
No, I think you're right. Living somewhere more north -- where people have more than two months of cold weather -- would kill me.
I started writing this morning though. Longhand on a legal pad so I could more easily snuggle under the comforter I removed from the bed that travels the house with me. I only stopped because Little Boy was determined I play with him and it was hard to keep my mind on any particular track while he sat at my feet, asking "Mommy, come play with me?" over and over and over.
So I played for a little while and now have the laptop on my lap, wishing it was a little warmer. Or maybe that the warmth came out the top too. I've made it through emails and rss feeds and keep thinking I should transcribe my handwritten pages and finish in digital form, but I'm too cold and the laptop doesn't work so well for snuggling into blankets.
I don't like being cold.