Kipilefti

I wake up cold. I put on three layers of clothing, cold; eat breakfast, cold. I miss my morning class because I can’t bring myself to leave the nest of blankets I’ve made, wrapped around myself, still shivering at the core of them. Hands wrapped around a cup of tea.

I think I’m sick. I hope I’m sick. It isn’t even June yet; we have not yet begun to freeze. If I can’t handle May temperatures I’m going to be in serious trouble when real winter comes.