This morning I was in the shower, quietly trying to restore feeling to my hands and feet, when a klaxon started going off. Taking this to be the carbon monoxide detector, I jumped out of the shower and ran (well stepped) into the kitchen. Thankfully, just as I was poised to throw open the door and reveal myself to the neighbourhood, I realised my mistake; it wasn’t the carbon monoxide detector at all, it was the smoke alarm. That is how cold my house is at the moment: the steam from a tepid shower, and last remnants of hot air as it was expelled from my body being enough to mimic the effects of a raging inferno.
In the evening I headed down to Meguro for a friend’s birthday bash. As is becoming usual for these events I felt as though I probably arrived a little too early. Surely it can’t be long before someone twigs that my eagerness is actually an excuse to exist in a place where the temperature is slightly above absolute zero. Upon arriving at my friend’s house they commented on how white my hands were, and so I told them that it was because it was so cold outside, desperately hoping that they wouldn’t realise that I was the only that seemed to be suffering from this affliction, and that the reason that my blood had actually started to coagulate was because of the arctic conditions of my flat.