Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Cup 33: Science Fictionally Cold
When: 7 am, Jan 19 2005
Who: Dot & Dash, Jessie
Coffee: Maine Roaster's French Roast
Mood: Frantic & confused
My only excuse is that it is cold. Really, really cold. So cold it really doesn't matter if the shades are pulled or not. There's so much frost on the windows it is hard to see outside. In American Gods, Neil Gaiman called this science fictionally cold. So cold the air freezes and you have to gather it in buckets and warm it up so you can breathe. He was thinking of Fritz Leiber's classic short story A Pail of Air. Today I can relate. It is supposed to snow for the next twenty-four hours, and then the temperature is really going to drop, down to minus 20 degrees fahrenheit. Once the needle hits zero, though, it really doesn't matter how much colder it gets. It just hurts. So I'm lying in bed, waiting for the sun to get brighter, only it won't because the frost is blocking it. Snuggled up so close to Jess that I'm almost pushing her out of bed. Dot & Dash are curled up on top of us. The alarm insists it is time to get up, but I just can't. That's my only excuse. So hard to get out of bed when you know that nothing in the day is going to be as pleasant as where you are right now. But I know that there's a bunch of students waiting for me to open up the class room, and I force myself up and out. Coffee is the only thing that can redeem the day, the only thing that keeps me going. I drink coffee, shower, drink coffee, start the car, drink coffee, get dressed and go, forgetting to eat breakfast but making it to class ten minutes before class time. Already a crowd waiting. What is wrong with these people?