When the alarm went off, I woke up instantly, as I always do--that alarm is too goddamn annoying not to wake up for--but I couldn't justify moving.

The wall was cold where my right foot was touching it. I had moved in the middle of the night, and my foot, apparently, was feeling suicidal. I curled it back into the coccoon of blankets, where everything was warm and sane, not like the outside of the bed, where, I was sure, pengiuns were playing hockey.

It was 6:00. I needed to get up.

I rolled over. The old rectangular heater--I'd had it with me for as long as I can remember, and now I'm sure if they released a product like it, it'd be recalled for sharp edges; for the fact it could melt pennies. If you turned on both switches it would blow a fuse, my mom said once. I'd always had it. It was always more than warm enough with one switch. As a child I used to wonder how warm it would be with both--could you handle it? Would it explode? Would it catch the book laying a foot away from it on fire with the heat? It was, it is, a wonderful heater.

I couldn't get up. I dozed, and when I looked up, it was 6:20.

Kat would be coming soon. If I was late for her to pick me up... well, it just wasn't curteous, was it? She was going out of her way to give me a ride to Denny's, I should be polite about it.

All the same--looking across the hardwood floor, it looked like Antartica.

There was only one way to do it. Jump out all at once and shock my body into wakefulness. Hammer in the fact that it's as cold as sin out there, and I better get used to it.

I jumped out, the blankets thrown aside. I made a heavy noise on the floor with the force--I was light but my jump was madhouse.

The heater clicked, a reminder of its warmth. Nick Cave on repeat, low in the background, continued to beg his sweetheart to come to him. I wanted to beat them both up. They didn't have to go out in that weather, when the trees were shivering in the Chinook winds. I looked at my floor at my jeans, and realized they were probably freezing, too. To make matters worse, I realized that I needed to take off my sweatpants to put them on.

They were cold inside, and I rushed to put on a shirt without freezing to death, doing it while my body was still in shock from the pants. The changing of socks was a lot easier. I never used to sleep in socks--it drove me nuts at one time. But, like the need for a shower to be truly awake, that feeling faded. It was only a minor feeling of dignity that made me actually change my socks in the morning.

Turning off the heater, turning off Nick Cave, I looked at the clock. 6:30.

It had seemed, in the chill of the October morning, so much longer. I shrugged at the clock. I shrugged at the world.

I pulled on my Converse and left the room.