Chicago Cold is a strange breed; a mix of big-city thermal drafts pulling in wind and lake effect sopping up moisture, littered with jet stream leftovers from the twin cities. The mutt winter is cold, dry, wind, snowy, and a perfect reason to wear fuzzy socks to bed.
It's 1:41 am. I have a paper due at 10:10 for my grammar class, and I'm going to sit up in bed, sew another patch on my quilt before I sleep, and ignore the staggering probability that I'll wake up with a stiff neck from the drafting seeping through the huge, uninsulated window at the head of my bedframe.
two days to lent...I'll have to convince myself that God wants me to suffer with Jesus, not frostbite.
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