Body Temperature

I've always been a cold person.

Don't get me wrong. I get along (even like) the vast majority of the people I meet, I make physical contact with almost everyone in almost every conversation I have, and I'm pretty sure I don't have any trust or intimacy issues.

But when it's any cooler than 70 degrees outside, I am miserable.

Miserable, now that I think about it, is probably too strong of a word. Uncomfortable would be more apt, but my desire to find warmth when I'm shivering is so all-encompassing that it doesn't quite seem to fit. So I default to miserable, because that word connotes a constant suffering that need not always be expressed but is universally understood.

It's weird to think that I get so easily cold, as I was a figure skater as a kid, and you'd think that would harden me to the elements. Not so, grasshopper. And what about all those times I was dragged out on camping trips with Dad and Pam and James? Shouldn't that have toughened my skin a little? Evidently not.

However, when it's 110 degrees in the shade (don't make theatre references, you'll only miss NCC more), I am a happy camper. I love the sweltering heat, that layer of disgusting sweat that covers your whole body the second you step out the door. I enjoy laying out on the beach, going for walks at midnight when it's still 75, and lounging under a tree with a good book. So it's not that extreme temperatures as a whole bother me; it's that I have a ridiculously low tolerance for the cold and yet-undiscovered tolerance for heat.

The reason I bring this up is because it was recently brought to my attention that it's the only high maintenance thing about me. As Mark and I were watching Shaun of the Dead last night, I fell asleep. Not that the movie's not great and not that I ever want to waste the short hours I have with him each week, but I was unbelievably exhausted from staying out late the night before. When I woke up towards the end of the movie, he tells me that my constant need to be wrapped in blankets is the only high maintenance thing about me (Obviously, he's never seen me organize a group outing, but that's another discovery for another day.).

Don't worry, he quickly added, kissing the side of my face. It's worth it. I would be lying if I said that those words alone didn't make me need the blankets a little less.

Now that I think about it, being cold all the time isn't so bad. It's a solid excuse to hold hands, snuggle close, and steal all the blankets with no real repercussions. The cold doesn't bother Mark at all; he actually had the A/C going in his car last night which makes me shiver just thinking about it, and he wore just a long sleeve shirt - no jacket, no hoodie, nothing - outside. It sorts of amazes me, really, that someone can be so unaffected, but it just adds to my list of evidence that he's actually a robot with an electrical heating core. Yes, there is a list, and the warmth thing isn't even the most compelling bit.

I've learned to live with the constant chill of being just barely uncomfortable in air conditioning. I can't say I don't notice it anymore, but I've at least stopped complaining about it. As much.

You really can't get too exasperated with yourself over a default reason to pull someone close.