While perusing the hobo stripper's blog, I was reminded of my feelings towards being cold.
When I was a kid, waiting for the bus with my mom or dad in the morning, I would be bundled in sweaters, a coat, mittens, a hat, everything neccisery for me to stay warm. My parents were by no means going to let me freeze. However, I was always cold, and I always told myself that no matter what, I'd rather be too hot than too cold. I've taken this into consideration ever since. I mean.. this was a declaration I made in the 3rd grade, possibly lower, and I still cling to it. Being too hot? Midly uncomfortable, if only because you eventually feel sticky and sweaty. That's fine. Too cold? Painful. Like razor blades on my skin.
At some point in time, I associated cold with pain. Being cold meant I was in pain. I don't know why. Even now, if it's slightly chilly in my office, I wear my coat and gloves to keep it away. The walk to my car at the end of the day is like torture, because going outside means going to an even colder place.
I have no idea why I feel this way, but it limits me quite a bit. I remember my trip to Spain about six years ago, when we went there during winter for the first time. I hated it. It was so cold, I wore my coat and hat and sweaters and socks to bed. Pretty much I slept fully dressed and still shivvered. I swore that I'd never purposefully go somewhere that cold again, because I was just seriously miserable.
So it's with an anxious heart that I beg spring to come sooner, because I am tired of waking up cold in the morning. In fact, waking up cold has to be one of the most painful things in the world.
Right there with dislocating my arms, which I do way too often.