Living in the Permafrost
To say that I have been cold since I got here would be an understatement; so severe an understatement that it might be called a lie. It is not my intent to lie. My intent is merely to survive.This man that I live with does not believe in heat. I find it hard to believe that I came of my own free will. I find it harder to believe that I stay. It is that cold.
Imagine frozen tundra.
Amidst the hustle and bustle of holiday preparations it is easy enough to forget that outer extremities are tingling. There is enough commotion to convince the brain that it should keep moving. There is enough coffee and sweets to keep the caffeine and sugar levels at record highs so as to fuel all of the extra movements necessary to keep from slowing down. There is enough noise to keep one from slipping into a warm cocoon of hypothermia. But then the day ends.
The nights are the worst. I wear more clothing to bed than I wear to go skiing. My bed is piled high with comforters and wool blankets. But none of this changes the fact that the room that I am sleeping in has no heat. At best it protects from the wind, and at that I even doubt its effectiveness. With every exhale I can see my breath. With every inhale my lungs creak. Those hairline fractures in my ribs grab my attention with every cold swallow. I pull the blankets over my head, curl into a fetal position, and wait for sleep. No such luck. Now that the day’s activity has ceased the cold creeps in under the blankets, first claiming my toes, then my ankles. After that my wrists begin to ache. I inhale deeply, holding my breath in till my stomach hurts; exhale. If I could just focus on breathing I think that it would distract from the pain, it hasn’t worked yet. My muscles all start to tense and the shaking begins. Every night I wait for the hours to tick by until dawn, when I can go and thaw in a shower, a hot, hot, hot, shower.
I am counting the days till I can fight my way out of this frozen tundra. Because living in the permafrost hurts.