Because here I am, sitting in my apartment, sitting ever so passively and exhaustedly despite the fact that I have a mountain pile full of stuff to do. Why, you ask? Well, let me just begin with this: in my current lease (in a slightly overpriced but extremely well-located Montreal digs, where the senior 30-year-old elevator threatens my well-being daily) I do not have to pay for heat. Then you’ll ask: you spoiled brat. And yes, you are partly correct. But the downside of not paying for heat is that you do not have any control in the amount of heat that blasts through your apartment. At all. So here I am, sitting in my “house uniform” (an oversized large t-shirt with the ubiquitous “VOLUNTEER” sign which I picked up at some place where the organizers were too cheap to pay for any other sized t-shirts, and exercise shorts). All the windows are open. I have also turned on the fan. And if you’re asking if I am exaggerating any of this, I only have one answer: hell no. My body feels the strain and the paradox of coming home to a warm tropical island after being outside in the cruel Montreal fall weather that is more early winter than fall. Apparently, this is what the older folks in my building desire as median heat. And I sit here, comatose with a cup full of ice cubes and my fan blasting in my face, wondering about the amount of energy I’ve wasted by consenting to live here and trying to open that window a bit further.
Turns out, pet peeves can’t be contained to just Tuesdays.
Posted by RK on October 8, 2010