See the fancy schmancy touch screen thermostat? Pretty. Pretty bright. And it’s right outside of my bedroom, so I wear an eye mask or sleep on my right side all night. Just close your door, you say? You obviously don’t have cats. Even Sebrina’s laughing at that ludicrous suggestion.
Anyhoo, because I’m a woman of independent means at the mo’ (financially insecure; and “at the mo'” is my new thing at the mo’; like my undying love of Ponyboy from The Outsiders, it’ll pass), I’ve set the A/C here and at my previous house at 80 degrees since the ex moved out. The heat was set at 60 degrees until my step-mother found out and cranked it to–$$$$$–65, stating she’d pay the monthly bill (I wouldn’t let her).
Sixty degrees was uncomfortable, especially during my pre-RA treatment/knee replacement surgery period. Stiff joints from RA plus stiff body (same thing) from cold equals constant movement if I didn’t want to get stuck in one position all winter. So 65 felt like Savannah in August. To this day, any higher’s too hot for me. It’s called adaptability, people.
The 80 degrees in summer thing at the apartment has been a challenge. My rancher’s only other residents, bless ’em, installed ceiling fans in every room of the house (except the bathrooms and already Antarctic basement). One over my bed…sigh. Those nodding know. Huge difference. I say this as I dislodge Sebrina from my lap because cats can never be too warm, apparently, or they’re insane.
So what’s your point, 43YOV? My point is that in 19 days I will be living in a real apartment building in a great area of a real city…where all utilities are included in my rent. That’s right. Get ready, hairballs, ’cause we’re going Antarctic: 75 degrees.
Getting goosebumps already.