I am so cold. All the time. Here in Beijing. I was not made for cold climates, which is terribly ironic given the fact that I grew up in Michigan, went to college in Massachusetts, and now choose to live in Beijing. None of these climates are southern California or Florida or the Cote d’Azure. Even more ironically, I really can’t imagine living in a place without seasons (I’m looking at you, Los Angeles). Nevertheless, the first cold snap of the season inevitably sends me into a depression, though this current one is slightly lifted by the fact that I’m getting new Smart Wool socks in a couple of weeks. But such a happy occurrence is still not without its downfalls, because Beijing, and all of northern China for that matter, in its genius, does not turn on the heat until mid-November. It’s come to the point already that it’s no longer sleep deprivation that is keeping me in bed in the mornings, but the freezing temperature outside my warm cocoon of a comforter. Morning showers will soon be an impossibility if I do not wish to catch pneumonia from the bathroom to my bedroom. Well, at least I’ll be able to wear my new socks to bed, and prevent frostbitten toes in the morning.

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