It's very cold in Chicago at the moment. This is not a great surprise, as it's (1) Chicago, and (2) winter, but it's still a bit of an affront to walk out the door and have the snot in your nose freeze up with the first breath. That's just wrong.

Wendy and I have very different home-heating philosophies. She seems to think you should be able to wear a t-shirt inside your house; I figure you just shouldn't see your breath. What can I say, it's the way I was raised -- I seem to remember the heat being turned off completely at night. I could be wrong about that, though.

Wendy checked in with me yesterday to make sure I hadn't succumbed to the cold. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't just putting on another sweater. And another. And another...." I scoffed. It's not that cold in here, and I do have a heat-producing cat who tends to stay on or about my person for most of the day.

Thing is, I was wearing two sweaters today. That probably counts as a sign I should turn up the heat. It's nicely warm -- ok, it's 68 degrees, which is perfectly adequate -- in the back of the house and the small rooms, but not the big rooms and the office. My office is, in fact, the coldest room in the house. Oops. I planned that badly. However, as half the time I'm working in my pjs and polarfleece robe, it's not that big a deal.

I love freelancing.