When steam billows merrily when you attempt to relieve yourself, you should accept it’s going to be a bitter cold winter.
But I thought I had come prepared. I thought the numerous layers of costly insulation I had purchased with some zeal would guard me against those agents of frost, determined as they were to numb my soul and quell any remaining desire to be productive. Instead, they ballooned my silhouette to aesthetically unpleasant proportions, and made most routine activities both arduous and unappetizing. Now I had to think long and hard before deciding if I wanted to relieve myself. Because it would involve a considerable time investment in de-suiting, as if I worked at some semiconductor plant. Conscious calculations about the approximate pleasure derived would ensue, and though these may seem whimsy to the uninitiated, the cold does make one do strange deeds.
Washing your face with water will render your face as immobile as a botox addict after her daily fix, and waking up at ungodly dawn-like hours will make you think hard about the life decisions you made. First, because you don’t for the life of you want to escape your blanket’s confines. It is at this point, both figuratively and literally your security blanket. Second, because you will eventually challenge destiny and wonder what you ever did to deserve your careworn fate.
Nowhere as fun as they make it look in the movies, the cold.