Dreaming of Heat Waves

You know you could use a bigger paycheck when you're going on a trip to see your mom and after seeing your mom, you're most excited about eating in a restaurant. It doesn't even matter what kind of restaurant because at this point, anything that isn't lentils or that hasn't come out of your own frying pan, is pretty damn exciting. And by "you" I'm clearly speaking about myself. What I have learned, is that being less than privileged makes you more creative. It gets you asking questions you might have never asked otherwise: who do I know with a wheelbarrow? how many times can I reuse a teabag and still get some caffeine out of it? would my neighbors think I'm weird if I ask to borrow toilet paper? eating refried beans cold out of the can isn't weird, right?

But seriously, I'm thinking of starting a thread in my blog about how penny pinching is making me smarter, like a lab rat in a new maze. My latest learning curve has come with needing to warm myself.

It's now the middle of March and we're at less than a quarter tank of heating oil. Filling up the tank can run $700, just to give you southerners some perspective. Rather than pay for more for the apartment, we're trying to forgo heat for the rest of the season. My roommates are a little luckier than I in that a) they aren't here all that much and b) their rooms don't have unlockable, uninsulated doors to the outside (my room has a porch- which is totally rad when Boston is sunny and warm, three days a year). To be clear, I don't want to shell out money for oil any more than anyone else does so I've been trying to come up with innovative ways to deal with the drafty situation.

First, I commandeered a space heater from the third floor. This worked very well for a couple weeks, until my housemmates came back to town and reclaimed it, and Emily caught an increase in our electric bill- foiled! Next, I tried sleeping with even more clothing, an extra blanket, socks and a hat. That was okay but my nose was cold and I shivered until I fell asleep. This week I hit the jack pot. Remembering an instrument I saw at Colonial Williamsburg that used hot coals to warm the beds of pasty patricians (shown below), I put an electric heating pad ($10 at CVS) in my bed 10 min before I planned to get in it.


By the time I brushed my teeth and washed my face my bed was toasty. The nice thing about the heating pad is you can snuggle with it for a little while and move it around sore spots of your body to relax your muscles before you fall asleep. No money for heat or a massage therapist? No problem. Get a heating pad.