November 2nd, 2014

The house is so cold I want to burn it down and sit in the
center watching the flame lick through each layer of construction.
Instead I build a fire, close the blinds, boil water, and open the
cellar door because the basement is 10 degrees warmer. I am
wearing three sweatshirts and two pairs of pants. I am wearing
fingerless gloves. I want to smoke cigarettes with you, wearing
fingerless gloves I said once to somebody and I can't imagine,
though I remember, saying it. I used to be frightened of the cold.
Now it is my enemy and I am not afraid to fight. I was made for
this: this survival, this resilience. You win I said to him But you 
never will again although we both knew there would not be another
time. The wood is not seasoned well and it hisses as the heat
enters it; white smoke fills the fireplace. Does it have to be a 
competition? He says. It isn't I say. It's war. Everything is.