No one can say I’m not doing my part to cut back on my carbon footprint.  Even though it’s definitely been cold, and our first round of snow could be here day after tomorrow, I haven’t actually started running the heat.

It seems like a waste to bother.  I’m usually out of the house for 11-12 hours each day, so there’s no need to keep the temperature up for that.  And then I like it cold when I sleep.  And since the bulk of the energy used in heating a space goes to that initial change from cold to warm–and the process of warming a house up takes time–there’s no point.  By the time I would have taxed the system enough to get the temp up, I’d be turning it back down again to sleep.

So, it’s hoodies (God bless hoodies) and fuzzy socks, and hanging out upstairs where it stays warmer (repeat after me, kids:  warm air rises, cold air sets).  And for the most part, it works out swimmingly.

But every now and then, when my fingers are out and turning into icicles as I type a post, I start to think the whole global warming thing might be a little welcome.

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