"I grow [c]old. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled"

The thermometer says it's 29 degrees outside. Our lawn is topped with frost. The neighbor's roof is covered by a thin layer of white. The air appears soupy-gray, like a cloud has settled over the neighborhood and cloaked us in its vapor.

This morning I am thankful for my heater. I have lived in many crummy apartments over the years that only had one main vertical vent, usually in the hallway. I would grab a beach chair, a blanket, and my books and camp out in front of the vent for hours at a time. Sometimes a heavy jacket or a knit cap would complete my ensemble. I read slowly, because each time I had to turn the page I'd need to free my hands from my blanket cocoon and expose them to the chill.

Of course the chill was nothing like you'd experience in any part of the world with actual weather--where snow piles up and there's a real risk body parts will turn blue and fall off--but it was cold enough for me.

I watched a few Scrivener video tutorials last night in my quest to ease into the new novel writing software. I found them useful, although I realize now I watched videos for the previous version but it should be fine. I think Scrivener will be a huge asset once I'm up and running.

Yesterday I made a dent in the feedback I owe people, but I have more to do. I would also like to make more progress on my short story, and get my novel into Scrivener. Sounds like a solid Friday plan. Ready set ... oh wait, coffee.

Coffee first. Then the wor[l]d.