The following night something unexpectedly delightful happens. My apartment is actually livable.
I don’t know the law exactly, if my inner geek cared enough I would Google it, but in New York if the outside air temperature is over 50 degrees Fahrenheit for some amount of hours during the day, landlords can turn off the heat. But then if it dips below 50 degrees during night something else happens. Or is it something about the average temperatures? Anyway my point is, the outside and inside air temperatures have created the perfect storm that has resulted in the building heat being turned off! For a change I don’t have to crank open the windows and strip down to shorts and a tank top just to avoid running the air conditioner in winter.
In fact it is so moderate in the apartment tonight that I am putting on clothes. It started with pulling on a long sleeve tee-shirt, then pajama pants, and then socks. Yes, socks. My apartment is so hot my feet sweat if I wear socks. Gross right? Well today the wood plank floor is COLD against my toes! And I like it.
A few hours later I wind down and brush my teeth, and turn off all the lights. Then I do something I have done about two times this year, I crawl into my bed (normally I sleep on the couch with the TV blaring). Under the covers, against cool sheets, I curl into the fetal position – making myself as small as possible. I sigh and burrow my head into the pillow. I find just the spot for my neck to release the day’s tensions and close my eyes. OMG, this is the greatest feeling ever.
For some reason in this state of peace I wonder about Town and Country. And decide he’s an idiot. Not because he does the “I want you, I don’t want you” dance. Because separately that is stupid, but I own a part of that insanity. No, Town and Country is an idiot because if I was a crazed woman, obsessed with him I could stalk him into misery. I know where he lives. I know where he works. I know which neighborhood eateries he frequents. I know the places he likes to go to in the City. I know that he travels all the time. I know where his parents live. I know enough about him that I could bury him.
I sigh and close my eyes. Snuggled under the comforter, nestled against the sheets, I cannot believe that do-do-head can cause me such unrest, and send me to such places of emotional hell. Because tonight, in my little cocoon, he feels a million miles away and I feel blissful, in my earthly heaven of goose-down and cotton.