Six Degrees and Counting

The thermometer on the back of the front door said six degrees this morning. Not six degrees with wind chill, just six degrees, baseline, before the wind even got involved. I stood there in my coat for a solid thirty seconds re-evaluating my life choices before I opened the door anyway.

The sidewalks are frozen. Not icy in the interesting way where it's sort of pretty, icy in the way where you take three steps and immediately lose all confidence in your own feet. I did this shuffle-walk the whole first block that I'm choosing to call 'cautious athleticism' and not whatever it actually looked like. The running club doesn't meet again until next week and honestly I think January is conspiring to make that as hard as possible. I went out anyway. I always go out anyway. That's the thing I've noticed about the cold, it doesn't actually stop me anymore, it just makes me negotiate with myself for an extra five minutes first.

navigating the ice like it's a whole sport

I sat on the stoop for a little while before I came back inside. I had my travel mug and I watched the steam disappear into the air and I thought about how weird it is that the new year doesn't feel new at all yet, it just feels like the old year but colder. Maybe that's fine. Maybe that's how it always works and I never noticed before. Classes start in a couple weeks and I have a lot of feelings about that that I'm filing under 'will deal with when the sidewalks thaw.' For now: six degrees, steam rising, another morning kept.

the steam is the only warm thing happening right now