Ten Degrees of Separation

What Five Degrees you might ask?

The Ten degrees I woke up to this morning. BRR.

You've all had that moment; you wake up in bed just enough to realize that you are in bed and not exploring some ancient tomb to discover a lost manuscript. The bed is warm and toasty with your body heat (and the added presence of one or more cats who, because of their own gravitational pull, have caused all heat to be drawn to them - and if you're lucky you get some of the ambient glow), but you can feel that the air in the room as a chill to it. The bubble of warmth protects you like the shell of an egg and for FIVE whole minutes, you do not have to get up.

Your mind squirms with the age-old question, do you lay there and enjoy five minutes of blissful relaxation, attempt to fall back to sleep so that you can get your hands on that manuscript (Laura Croft keeps stealing it from me), or bite the bullet and crawl forth from your thermeonic embreo and start the day.

This morning I had little choice in the matter. As soon as I began to wake, both cats stirred and began to walk towards me on the bed like a pair of alien face-huggers.

I tried to resist and then one crawled atop of my bladder, knowing that the pressure would force me to rip myself free from the blanket-shelled coccoon.

They were hungry - again.

I stumbled through the house and banged my toe on the edge of the coffee table (I swear that they must move things like that so I'll trip over it. Imagine the math involved in calculating the probability of my path while half-awake. Hrm. Cat-scientists.). After putting food into their already half-full bowl, I stumbled back to crawl into the shower.

Ahh, there's nothing more satisfying than walking into a small room that has a heater. Though the house may be chilled in the morning, I know that the bathroom is always warm. Mmm. Small luxuries.

Off to class.

-Tom