I have not yet turned the heat on in my apartment.
Well, that's a lie. I turned it on for about one hour one night. And then I turned it back off and it hasn't come back on. It's not yet really cold enough to need it, not when I have a white cotton gabi from Ethiopia and a down throw and a good sweatshirt. I'm sort of tempted, though, never to turn it on. I'm not sure if it will be tolerable in here, but I live in an apartment building, so I can mooch a little bit of heat from the neighbors.
I have a heating pad, and I have a real mattress now. (It is, by the way, astounding how much easier it is to stay warm when you sleep on a real mattress than on an air mattress. I underestimated how much heat I was losing to that air. I'm delighting in sleeping in this cushy, cozy, warm, real mattress. Even if it's the wrong size for my bed frame. Oops.)
The most important thing is my pure joy at the electricity bill. I paid $60 a month all last winter, which was fine. It was tolerable. But then, over the summer, I discovered how low the bill could go if I didn't use any climate control. A $19 electricity bill is pretty addicting.
Not that I don't spend that other $41 almost instantaneously on other things.
Yesterday I read an article about the difficulties of buying groceries in the "food deserts" of cities, and I realized just how privileged I am. I am broke every month, sure, but I still buy fresh vegetables and I eat a big salad almost every day. I still buy ice cream bonbons and hummus and healthy cereal. I still buy - this, this is the privilege of wealth - organic milk.
No, I can't fly to Africa when I want. But I can buy food that keeps me healthy. With my new health insurance, I can go to the doctor when I feel sick. I can get to one or another grocery store within ten minutes walking or ten minutes by train. I can heat my apartment, if I choose. I can buy myself lunch when I have nothing interesting left in the fridge. Every once in a while, it strikes me just how privileged I am.
Well, that's a lie. I turned it on for about one hour one night. And then I turned it back off and it hasn't come back on. It's not yet really cold enough to need it, not when I have a white cotton gabi from Ethiopia and a down throw and a good sweatshirt. I'm sort of tempted, though, never to turn it on. I'm not sure if it will be tolerable in here, but I live in an apartment building, so I can mooch a little bit of heat from the neighbors.
I have a heating pad, and I have a real mattress now. (It is, by the way, astounding how much easier it is to stay warm when you sleep on a real mattress than on an air mattress. I underestimated how much heat I was losing to that air. I'm delighting in sleeping in this cushy, cozy, warm, real mattress. Even if it's the wrong size for my bed frame. Oops.)
The most important thing is my pure joy at the electricity bill. I paid $60 a month all last winter, which was fine. It was tolerable. But then, over the summer, I discovered how low the bill could go if I didn't use any climate control. A $19 electricity bill is pretty addicting.
Not that I don't spend that other $41 almost instantaneously on other things.
Yesterday I read an article about the difficulties of buying groceries in the "food deserts" of cities, and I realized just how privileged I am. I am broke every month, sure, but I still buy fresh vegetables and I eat a big salad almost every day. I still buy ice cream bonbons and hummus and healthy cereal. I still buy - this, this is the privilege of wealth - organic milk.
No, I can't fly to Africa when I want. But I can buy food that keeps me healthy. With my new health insurance, I can go to the doctor when I feel sick. I can get to one or another grocery store within ten minutes walking or ten minutes by train. I can heat my apartment, if I choose. I can buy myself lunch when I have nothing interesting left in the fridge. Every once in a while, it strikes me just how privileged I am.
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