Days like this — grey, cold, still — sap the warmth from my body. My mind is warm today, active and alive, but my body heat has begun to dissipate. My toes go cold first. I can feel them now, small blocks of ice, and their chill has begun to spread upward, past the soles of my feet, toward my ankels. Meanwhile, my fingers are also cold. My hands are cooling. The tip of my nose is cold. The rest of me is not exactly warm, but not cold yet, either.
In a few minutes, I will drive home. I’ll turn the heat on in the car. I’ll shiver for a few minutes while the air turns warm. But even once I reach Oregon City, when the car has become actually hot, I will not be warm.
No — when I get home, I will grab a book (Ian Fleming’s Casino Royale), climb into the tub, and luxuriate in the warmth. On days like this, I need close, all-encompassing heat, and the tub is the best way to get that. (Though I have discovered that the electric blanket offers another alternative.)
If only chantico were an option. But I’m off sugar right now, so my two remaining bags of the stuff remain in the freezer, untouched.