There is some fortune or misfortune in the particulars of my bedroom. In the morning, and often throughout the day it is at least ten degrees warmer than the rest of the house. This is often a welcome temperature, as we keep our thermostat mostly at 55 degrees Fahrenheit. In the morning, it begins an automatic shift to a balmy 62. This, on work days is perfect. The chill that tucked me in has warmed just enough to make the shift from blanket to air less aggressive. On the weekend, when I wake slightly later, the full heat of some distant arid expanse travels the world to conquer my bedroom climate. So, I crack a window and let the 28 degree wind sweep through, letting the desert know it has somehow lost its way, and slowly the room becomes temperate again. I like these extremes. This hot here and that cold there. My body constantly greets and adjusts to a myriad of climatical colleagues, and reminds me: pay attention.

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